Yesterday I received one of those emails that a writer gets once or twice in a lifetime. A letter that made every hour of struggle and ounce of sacrifice and year of labor in building my writing career worthwhile.
The story’s not mine to tell, as it involves someone else’s child, but suffice to say that a book I wrote opened an important door for someone who was in great need of such a door.
This is one of the most basic reasons I ever wrote. I tend to assume most writers feel the same way. That we want to reach other people.
I reached someone. I am humbled and proud.