Hello, friends.
This week I brought my father to the doctor’s and then had other things to do. There was a staff meeting after school on Wednesday and grades are due for report cards so I’ve been staying late at work to catch up on grades. I still managed to work on Project: Amusement Park.
The past week was also my mother’s birthday. I’ll write more about that a little farther down.
So, let’s get into it.
Welcome to the 113th installment of Gauthic Times, the newsletter about my writing, my life, and thoughts of my mother.
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I didn’t work on Project: Amusement Park as much as I’d wanted to this week. About 55 pages were revised and around 1,200 words were cut. As of right now, I’ve cut about 5,600 words from the novel bringing the total to approximately 182,700 words from 188,300.
I had to add a little bit of new material to go along with a change I’m making, but I still lost more than I gained for wordage. Making the novel tighter has been a joy so far and I’m still feeling the book hum as I work on it.
I’ve continued doing Daily Progress updates on Patreon but have forgotten a few times. I’m still in need of a way to keep track of things. I wish that part was easier. Writers/creators who are reading this, if you have any ideas or methods that work for you, feel free to share them.
I recorded a short video today for Patreon but haven’t posted it as I write this on Saturday (March 15th) afternoon. It’s the idea I mentioned in last week’s newsletter.
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A Letter to Mom
This past week was my mother’s 75th birthday. Unfortunately, she wasn’t here to see it. She died a little less than a month before her 69th birthday. I miss her and think about her every day. Since she died, I’ve often said and written that it’s like living near a mountain your whole life and suddenly one day the mountain is gone. The horizon looks different. It’s the same place but it’s not, it’s different on a foundational level.
I wrote a letter to her the morning of her birthday as I was covering a coworker’s class. I’ve thought about posting it to her Facebook but and still might, but for now I’ve decided to share it with you. I’m going to warn you, it’s angry.
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3/10/25
Mom—
Today would’ve been your 75th birthday. It should have been your 75th birthday but you experienced a tragedy of errors. I miss you every day and try to remember the happiness, joy, and forgiveness you always held in your heart.
Unfortunately, I’m not feeling forgiveness this year on your birthday. I’m angry on your behalf. I’ve kept most of my anger to myself over the years—only mentioning it to Pamela, Tracy, or, sometimes, Dad—but this year I miss you more than ever—and I already missed you terribly!
This will be the kind of thing you might’ve admonished me for. Or maybe you’d have been quietly happy by it because I’m calling out the bullshit. Or maybe you’d just shake your head and say to Dad, “That’s Billy.”
I’m angry with the oncologist. One week before you died, we sat in his office together and talked about a plan for treatment. How did he not know how bad the tumor was? If it was big enough to crush your vital organs, how could he not have known that? How did he miss that?!
I’m angry at the friends and family who were not there for you for nearly two decades. Whenever I post to your Facebook page, people come out of the woodwork to say how much they loved you and miss you. But where the fuck were they when you needed friendship, companionship, and just general help? And where have they been afterward? For Dad? No one called you or visited or at least rarely did so. How many phone calls has Dad received since you’ve been gone? Here’s a hint: I don’t need fingers to keep track. I remember our last conversation and how you mentioned you didn’t think anyone would care because the people who cared let you know. They came and called and left messages for us to pass along.
But where were some of them before? Do they feel the same guilt?
I’m angry at the medical system in our country that puts profit before people, which basically allowed you and millions like you to suffer and die because their bottom line was (and is) more important than life.
Finally, I’m angry at myself. Like you, I can be stubborn and petty and I allowed you to get to me. I wasn’t always there when I could have been and I feel like I’ve failed in the promise I made you during our final conversation.
I wish you could see how your grandchildren are. They’re so smart, talented, and funny. I wish you could’ve seen the things I’ve done with my writing. You would be so proud.
Mostly, I wish we could talk.
I miss you, Mom.
I love you.
Happy birthday.
Love,
Billy
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Gautham: Bill Gauthier.com 
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