Plus, I was spurred on by the adrenaline from the Boston Book Festival. So, I figured I'd participate, get some words on the page which is notoriously difficult.
They were all part of my story . I began to realize in a new way how skewed my relationship with God has been, how much I have not changed since I was a child, how much I refuse to change. How deep the wounds and brokenness go. As I'd write I'd wonder, "Has there ever been anyone so messed up as me? Making deals with God and bargaining a way to avoid my pain." Then I'd reply (to myself) "SO many, I know, all of us, broken and bruised….human after all. Only human and him all knowing but how can we ever heal? How can we ever change? How can my story be any more than just a mess of mixed up doctrines and false assumptions."
I decided to start taking things a little more seriously and realized that I love writing at the Library. I feel so inspired and though the books do distract me for a while, once I set down to work things go much more smoothly, efficiently. I also notice I don’t watch music videos at the library. I just listen to instrumental music and focus on the writing. Sometimes I only put one headphone in so I can be aware of my surroundings. Music videos seem inappropriate at the library and I suppose they are addicting and distracting even at home.
Trying to find the right music added to my guilt over falling behind on my word count. First, it was wine and then scandalous pop song videos. But it was also what I was writing. I felt a guilt that was heavy and demanded healing when I wrote about my ex boyfriend, when I relived sweet moments together, re-imagining them with rose colored glasses but the process also forced me to confront why we didn’t end up together. It wasn’t just that he smoked weed and drank or didn’t care about women’s rights. A cynic could accuse my husband of those things as well (albeit in the past.) No, it was that this boy I loved at first, did not love God more than he loved me. And to write it off as anything else would be dishonest.
And I began to take writing more seriously, I began to take the themes and questions I was wrestling with and weave them into a fictional quilt filled with very true moments. But then fatigue set in. Each word was like a slow crawl to the finish. I could not seem to get my words down and the words I did get down felt cliche and ambling. I was annoyed at myself but refused to give up. I had written so much already; probably more than in the past two years combined or at least equal to it. There was already so much to edit and to play with. I think that will be the fun part. If only I could figure out what music to listen to. Before I could believe it, it was already the last day. The very last write in on the last day. I had 5,000 words left to write and so little energy. The leader of my writing group put these two pins in front of me and told me to choose. I could continue this story next year or next month or I could finish it in the next 3 hours. I began to write feverishly. I wrote and I wrote. I set my timer and every half hour I'd give myself a cookie...literally. I tried extending scenes that felt short and adding description where it was lacking. I was scrambling.
Then, at 11:43 with 22 minutes left of the month I finished. I would not say it is a truly complete novel. But it is a love story that I am proud of. It is more than a start it has a beginning, middle and end. I can't believe how long it took and how hard it was and yet how worth it. I felt like a winner and when people ask me what I've won, I show them the pin. Because really that is enough, more than enough. I gave myself a whole week off. But part of me doesn't want to lose momentum. I want to keep "writing like my pen is on fire." So, I think I will. I think I will always write. It is part of me.
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