As a writer, especially in the very beginning, words of praise and compliments on your writing mean a great deal. When a customer or an editor calls your work 'excellent' or 'very well written', the reassurance hits that maybe, just maybe, you are a talented writer.
Up to now, by far my greatest compliment came just a week ago. A large group of people were coming to my house to celebrate my daughter's birthday. My dad came up early, spending a good deal of the morning with us as he often does on a Sunday. A first draft proof copy of The Starter Life was sitting out on the dining room table, (begging to be edited as it does most days.) Well, as I was bustling around the kitchen preparing dinner, I looked over to see my dad sitting at the table, reading my book.
My dad is a man of few words. He does not throw compliments away. He does not spend excessive amounts of time on flattery or flowery adjectives. Watching him sitting in my dining room reading The Starter Life spoke for itself.
Time passed and dad turned several pages. I'm not sure how much he read in total; but he sat there for a long time anyway. Dad and I don't sit around talking about how much we mean to each other; but we both know. There is a priceless mutual respect I treasure; which is why the hour he spent reading my magnum opus was the best accolade I could have.
Thanks, Dad.
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