Not that I don’t think about her every day. I do, more times than I can count. It’s been several years since she passed away, and I’ve never given up the habit of talking to her inside my head. I used to do that, even while she was alive. We talked on the phone all the time. But I’d mentally tell her stories in between calls, so I wouldn’t forget them when we connected again.
Now that my first book has been published, it’s really hard not to think about her. She loved my writing and was thrilled when I told her I'd started a novel. I was working on one for my son back then, years ago, and would send her a chapter every so often. I cringe when I think about the poor quality (that book was more or less training ground for Gambit), but I’ll never forget when she read the prologue. The phone rang immediately, and there she was, on the other end.
“Cary, this sounds like a real novel,” she said, out of breath. “Like one I’d pick up in a bookstore!"
