I’m going to do an unusual post, without writing content; I apologize if that bothers anyone. But this is on my mind.
“I’ve figured out what makes you tick,” my dad said to me late one night when I was home visiting for the holidays. “Money doesn’t matter to you.”
“I don’t care about money,” I agreed with a grimace while he continued to talk. “It’s crap.”
“You care about what interests you. What gets your mind going–cultures and languages and making connections with other people.”
And, it’s true. I really don’t care about money. I would love to win the lottery mostly so I could give the majority of it away, and the bit I’d keep would just be to get me out of debt and let me live with moderate comfort while I write the rest of my life, and also so I could keep a bit aside to make sure my dog always has the best medical care available with a fund. If I could, I’d like to always be able to give for free everything I write, everything I do. When I was younger, my family saw that I liked to write and somehow I wrote it in honor of other people. My grandpa’s death, my grandma’s death, my cousin’s wedding… At one point I got commissioned to write poetry for my cousin’s graduation, and when I realized my aunts were going to try to pay me for it I was aghast.
Here’s another Julian Files excerpt, just because. Unedited, and I might change parts of it later. I just felt like sharing this piece.
“Who raised this mannerless heathen?”
“Mrs. Beaulieu! I must ask you to be more understanding.” Ms. Callaway dropped her voice and leaned in, her eyes catching and holding Vivienne’s. “His mother passed away from the lung sickness just over a month ago.”
Ms. Callaway grimaced and nodded. “So, as I’m sure you understand, this is a transitional time for young Austin.”
“I do not.”
“I do not understand. I am waiting for a reasonable explanation as to why you have deemed it appropriate to encourage his behavior.”
“Mrs. Beaulieu, his mother–“
“When I was not much older than he is, I lost both my parents in an unexpected act of violence. I did not use it as an excuse to abuse others, nor did I willfully put their safety in danger for my own amusement. If his sole excuse for harassing my son is a death he saw coming for months, then it is an exceedingly poor one.”
Ms. Callaway gaped at Vivienne, which only served to further irritate her. Everyone in this city was wholly incompetent. Rather than waste further brain cells attempting to explain to an imbecile why it was shortsighted and idiotic to let a kid who’d lost a parent get away with near murder, she stood. She grabbed Boyd on the shoulder and turned him toward the door.
“Enough. We will leave now. I expect you to look into further complaints or I will be forced to take this to the school board. The fact that you are incapable of doing your job correctly should not be reflective on my son’s ability to learn.”
Ms. Callaway’s entire face tightened. Good.