When I was young I wrote in secret. Once, when I shared with my mother a poem I’d written, she told me it was cute. It was not cute. I had poured my heart into it. I didn’t share my writing with my mom again until I was an adult.
But once I began striving in earnest for a career as a writer I received wonderful support from my entire family…all my relatives and my husband and children. I’m not certain my relatives believed anything would come of my efforts, but my husband had faith in me. My children did, too.
Sometimes I suspect my daughters were jealous of the time I spent with my characters. They had an uncanny way of knowing when I was thinking about my work, even when I was supposed to be paying attention to them. But they were always supportive.
Thank you for asking such a thoughtful question.