I was asked to blog about “How it is to be a writer’s Mom” (actually “How it is to be Sylvia Day’s Mom.”)

I had to think about it for a while. The short answer would be, “It is like a mother with a firstborn baby.” However, there are many books to guide a new mother-to-be. But I don’t know if there is a book on how to be a proper mother to a writer.

It has been about three years since my daughter Sylvia started this book-business. I have noticed a slow change in her household. More and more clothes have found a comfortable spot on her bedroom floor and decided to stay there instead of on hangers in her walk-in closet or in hampers for carrying to the washing machine. Dishes never seem to make it into the dishwasher. The backyard has been forgotten. The front flowerbeds, which were once the pride and joy of the neighborhood, are now choked with weeds.

I learned long ago that people will do what they fancy. I know I have no power over any human being. So I decided to just wait-and-see to find out what was going on.

A few months later, I was told about her website. A few more months after that, Sylvia told me she had won Lori Foster’s Brava Novella Contest. To tell you the truth, I had no idea what Sylvia was talking about. It seemed like Sylvia went to another planet and came home speaking a foreign tongue.

Thank goodness for the World Wide Web. I can type in whatever I don’t know, and the computer will lead me to an answer. English is not my native tongue, so the online dictionaries are a great help with finding new words. (so I could comprehend the ramblings of this new author.)

2-3 months after the first book (BAD BOYS AHOY!) was sold to Kensington, I learned that “first sales” were to be celebrated in a grand manner, but it was too late. I didn’t know that at the time she sold. Sylvia grew up with a parent whose ideas and customs are so different from most of her friends. I understand that the children of immigrants feel like they have parents who are from another planet. These children must endure some crazy ideas from their parents’ home countries, and put up with their parents’ ignorance and overbearing attitudes.

For me, her writing world is a different kind of culture shock. I am her mother, but I don’t know the language and customs of a writer’s world. I felt really bad about not giving her a proper celebration for her “first sale”.

Now the baby writer has matured past the baby-steps. She’s progressed from walking, to jogging, and now she’s running full-speed ahead. As her mother, I try to stay by the roadside and provide water bottles when she needs them and a towel to dry the sweat from her face. I shout encouragements when she feels low, and comfort her when (she thinks) she’s stumbled. After all, she is not running alone. Life is a three-legged race — Sylvia and all our family members together. When she is sad, we all feel sad. When she is happy, we scream with joy.

I am not young, nor as able as I wish to be. Each day is new and a challenge, just like the life of my daughter, Sylvia.