The last time I posted here I proclaimed that the story was about identity. It’s about far more than that. There is hope and redemption. Love is in there, too. Not only are these themes in this story that spans two years, but these are themes in my life. I realized it’s a snapshot of the last 36 years. It’s also a survivor story. Each of us has those stories. We’re striving not to make life bitter, but better, hopeful. No one sets out to make life a disappointment. We get disappointed. And then we’re confronted with choices. Instead of life happening to us, we make life happen.
Writing this story was painful at times. I wanted to stop and say no way, no more. It hurts too much. I can’t tell you how many times I wrote a piece, crying, then notice the time and see I have to pick up my kids from school. Now. I’d blow my nose, rub my red eyes, and get in the car. I silently pleaded for no one to ask me about The Book because I was uninspired and hadn’t written in weeks. And I would have days where I couldn’t get the words down fast enough. I scribbled in a notebook my friend Tanya gave me at Annie’s dance class, in parking lots and doctor’s offices. I could barely decipher my own writing when I needed to get those words onto a computer. I sighed virtually and on the phone to friends. I felt torn between two worlds for almost a year.
Now I’ve got this book which I have finished editing, as of today. It is my book. Mine. I’ve had so much help along the way. I couldn’t have done it without the support of my friends, family, writing group and my fantastic blog readers. You guys have encouraged me since day one and I am deeply grateful. I don’t know where it will go from here. There are many steps between here and publishing. Somebody important out there has to want this book. I have a lot to do in order to make that happen and the task is pretty freakin’ daunting. But, I wrote a book. The past few weeks when I’m out grocery shopping, I’m whispering to Wheat Thins and apples, “I wrote a book.” There is a skip to my step. Well, a small one. But, not too shabby for an amputee.
It’s quiet in my head. For months ideas and words and just-one-more-thing have filled my head and now my brain has gone eerily silent. I hope it doesn’t mean I have nothing more to write. It might mean that I’m done with this book. I know there will be more to fix, but the story feels complete. I want to enjoy and celebrate that.
I’ll post another piece of the story soon. After that, it might be updates on the book’s progress (please, let there be progress!) and just your regular run-of-the-mill posts. I have no idea what that means yet. I hope you stay with me.