Today marked the first time I’ve received royalties from the proceeds of my short story about dad. It was a strange mix of feelings when I saw the modest deposit in my account.

Does my interpretation and reimagining of events warrant a price, however small, from anyone? Can any story really do a man who was so loved justice? Does it make me greedy to monetize this experience? I’m not honestly sure how to answer these questions but I’m also sure I’m the only one posing them in the first place.

The underlying motivation behind releasing the story in the first place shifts for me. It was certainly a way to share my version of grief, but it was also an attempt to test myself. I needed to know I could commit something of substance to the page and submit it to the world for their judgment. It was the culmination of years of saying I was something and proving it.

But it was only a starting point. If I really hope to become what I’m meant to be, I’ll have to keep writing no matter the cost.