I bet Edison had a mother...

Before I begin this post, I want to make it very clear that I do not put myself on plane with Edison or any other genius that changed our world. No, I'm an ordinary Jane. But, I do know what it's like to work toward something that many feel is impossible.

Edison was a persistent man. He worked for years to develop a carbon filament for the light bulb. After hundreds upon hundreds of failed attempts, in 1879 he succeeded, and we have never been the same since.

The other day, I was stranded at my parents house without a car. (Long story. Not interesting, I promise.) My darling mother asked to see my newest manuscript, and I consented.

I read my words aloud while we lounged on her bed. She gave me her whole self, hanging on every syllable like it was auditory gold. She oooed and ahhhed in all the right places. She laughed right on cue when my characters made a pun, and she felt sympathy for my characters when they were disheartened.

Was she just giving me what I wanted to hear? I honestly don't think so. Does this mean that my manuscript will be the envy of every major publishing house in New York? Probably not. But it does go to show that mothers can work small miracles in the lives of their children. Because she believes in me, it is that much easier to believe in myself (something that is imperative for an aspiring author). I'm glad she likes my new story, and her opinion is a valuable one. More than anything, I'm glad she's my mother.