Dedication in "Roughing It" by Mark Twain Perhaps I'm an unusual reader, or maybe it's just that I'm nosy, but I always look for the dedication page in every book I read. I often wonder who Jane or John Doe is. Sometimes, depending on how vague the wording is, I wonder what the person or persons mentioned have done to warrant having a novel dedicated to them. Of course, being a writer I'd usually make up my own little back story to satisfy my curiosity. It's only recently that I've decided this makes me odd, since I've rarely seen any mention of the dedication in the hundreds of author interviews I've read. Am I the only one who wonders?

When I self-published "The Unscheduled Stops", I found the dedication one of the most difficult parts of publishing. Given the freedom, I'd have dedicated the book to every person who'd ever offered the slightest encouragement to me in my lifetime. (Thank goodness for the acknowledgement section. BTW, does anyone but me ever read that part, either?) It took some time to decide who I should include in the dedication. After all, most dedications are vaguely phrased, one-liners directed at a single person or entity. Curbing my Newbie enthusiasm turned out to be nearly impossible. Since the book is a collection of short stories I intended to "gift" to those early fans who were patiently waiting for my debut novel, I chose to dedicate the book to my four best friends, (my first non-family fans).

 "Learn To Love Me" wasn't much easier. The acknowledgements section in that book span three pages in the print edition. In the end, I chose to make the dedication to those who'd been my most ardent supporters for the longest period. 
Pretty straight forward, right?

But what is the real story behind it?

The first part of the dedication is pretty clear. Mom, Dad and Sis were always sure I'd make it. The second part, for my Gran, is more vague than you'd think. For those of you who may be as curious as I can be, I'll explain.

My parents divorced when I was very young. Nothing unusual there, since so many marriages end in divorce court. What makes my situation different, I suppose, is that my birth father took no interest in  me whatsoever. His parents, however, were devoted Grandparents. My paternal grandparents picked me up at the end of every school year and whisked me away to a cottage for the entire summer vacation. Now, my parents were rightfully diligent in teaching me to be hard-working, reliable and unselfish, but every summer I became a pampered princess in the indulgent custody of "The Grands". My every whim was catered too, usually without question. I'm sure it must have been a nightmare for my parents to reform me every fall. Thankfully, I'd been raised with a strong sense of gratitude and humility. It was odd, going from our blue-collar home, where every penny was hard-earned and had to be spent carefully, to my grandparents' white-collar opulence, where price was no object and quality the greatest concern. At least, price was no object when it came to buying things for me. The rest of the time, my grandparents were on the miserly side of prudent, a habit instilled in them at a young age by war rationing and their own blue-collar upbringing. The one commonality between the two households was the one constant in my life: words. My Mom and my Gran were equally avid readers. Both had a love of books and words, and both took every opportunity to encourage my own passion for reading and writing.

My Grandparents were fairly well-to-do in my opinion, but they'd worked for that status. Gran had worked a full-time job, rare for her generation, and she and Grandpa had saved and invested with great care. I suppose there were times in my adult life when I could have asked them for money. Perhaps it was pride that forestalled me, but I'd like to believe that it was my sense of honour, instead. I know that dropping out of high school nearly broke Gran's heart, and my failure to attend college couldn't have been any less disappointing. I struggled from one dead-end job to another, but I did my best to downplay my financial struggles to both of my grandparents, and after Grandpa's passing, to Gran. My dreams of writing for a living took a low place on my priority list while I grappled with the three D's in my early thirties: debt, depression and divorce.

As time slipped away from us all, Gran's health declined. Eventually I had to help her pick a nursing home, and as her mind began to slip I took on the role of Power of Attorney. I was pleased that Gran had stashed away a fair sum to sustain her. Over the last five years of Gran's long life, I did everything I could to convince her to spend her money on her own entertainment and comfort. A survivor of two World Wars, it wasn't easy to convince her. When Gran passed in 2010, her estate was left to several beneficiaries. I was one.

By that time, I'd been jobless for two years, caring for Gran and my two babies, (one and two years old by then). Most of the money Gran left to me went to easing the financial strain of our single-income family. A smaller portion went into the bank for emergencies and bought me my first laptop computer.

A week after I bought my Acer laptop, I stumbled over an old computer file I'd nearly forgotten about. It was full of creative writing bits from years before. Among them was a piece titled "Learn To Love Me".

I remembered my dreams of writing a book. I remembered my Gran's encouragement to write. I remembered how to pour my heart into words. After I'd read the piece, I started to edit it. When I'd finished editing, I began to expand on it. A month later, I had six chapters and a plan.
Gran in 2001 My Grandmother worked all of her life, squirreling away money as did so many of her generation. The remainder of that money is what made it possible for me to write again. Gran paid for my laptop, software, online memberships, cover art, editing fees, promotional items, swag ... Gran's money is what allowed me to stay home with my children until they go to school, taking a long-awaited shot at my lifelong dream of authorship. If it weren't for my Grandmother, none of my writing would ever have seen publication. You can thank or blame her, as you see fit. I'd like to hope she'd be proud of me for finally going for it, and pleased to be the financer behind it.

Are you a published author? Who or what was/is your debut book dedicated to? What's the story behind the dedication?  If you blog the answer, please link us all in the comments. I'd love to read it. :D