- Sep 1874
I'm so happy I could hug the whole world.
Today my father came home from a long business trip. I missed him so much.
Since my mother died of tuberculosis, I find it even harder when he travels for a long time on business. I'm always scared that something could happen to him and I would lose him too.
After supper he summoned me to the drawing room. I was so scared that Johanna, the maid, broke her promise and reported to my father that I had lain naked at the swimming pool with Sophie.
He looked at me searchingly for a long time. Meanwhile, a thousand thoughts shot through my head as to what could be the reason for our conversation.
"Marie," he said to me. “I know writing means a lot to you. You cannot imagine a life without writing. You would be the unhappiest person if I forbade you. Your mother often told me how you spent hours writing in the garden or in the reading room and then proudly recited the stories to her."
Why was he telling me all this? Did he only now realize what writing really means to me?
He told me that one of his business friends had recently started a publishing company. My father told him about my passion and gave him samples of my stories. Apparently he was amazed at how talented I am. He even sees me as a young author from the 19th century and definitely wants to support me.
I am so blessed.
I - Marie as an author of the 19th century?
A book dedicated to my beloved mother who always believed in me and encouraged me never to give up my dream!
Did you have a hand in it, mom?
Written by Marianna Vogt
Comments (2)
Liebe Marianna, freue mich immer von dir was zu lesen, weiter so :-) .
mache es wie deine Vorfahrin.
Eine Geschichte, die unter die Haut geht – und dort bleibt. Und ich kaufe Marianna ab, dass sie die eigene Geschichte geschrieben hat. Ganz aus der Tiefe.