Why I Haven’t Been Able to Write a Book…Until Now.

I’d like to take a moment to recognize the irony of this blog post. It’s a piece of writing about writing in a category dedicated to writing with the tag ‘writing.’ Mind blown yet? I sure am.

Another thing that blows my mind is how simple the solution to this particular problem was: look to God. For the longest time, I’ve wanted to write a fiction novel — cause I’m a fiction nerd like that — with lots of action but, at the same time, a strong undertone about overcoming grief.

If you lovelies haven’t guessed already, grief has actually played a monumental role in my life and development as a person. When I titled this blog “Confessions of a Reborn Girl,” I was talking about the rebirth I encountered after recovering from grief. The more I fill this blog’s digital space, the more I realize how right it feels to approach grief head-on and hopefully help other people along the way. (That’s another aspect of my sign-off “Live boundless.”) I refuse to be defined by my past. I’m more than what I’ve seen andย greater than what I’ve felt.

Now…what does this have to do with struggling to write a book? Everything. I’m a huge softie. I feel guilty about cutting in front of people on the highway, even when the puny merge gave me no other choice, for crying out loud! Putting people, even if they’re fake, through imaginary traumatic experiences for the purpose of allowing real humans to feel like they aren’t alone is unimaginably painful for me.

Not only do I feel like I’m re-living my experiences in the worst possible way, I feel like a terrible person for imposing them on someone else — even if that person technically doesn’t exist. All of this internal conflict got me thinking, and texting my character friend, which finally manifested into an epiphany:

Doesn’t God cry when His children suffer? Doesn’t He feel their pain as His own?

If God does it, doesn’t that mean I can too? Note:ย I’m not insinuating, in any shape or form, that I’m anything like God. I’m a speck of dust compared to His glory. However, I can draw my strength from Him.

The whole point of having faith in God, at least in my estimation, is to have the strength to do things we couldn’t do by ourselves. That’s just what He’s there for: to guide and lift His children up regardless of reciprocation, or lack thereof, every single day in every single endeavor.

That’s why there’s no longer a doubt in my mind that I can do this. I have God on my side.

~Live boundless.

P.S. I also fear submitting my novel to a publisher and getting rejected like nothing else. Or worse, having it get published and nobody reading it. The immense break-out success of some my favorite authors — J.K. Rowling for example — doesn’t really help things. So I’m going to pretend that the world or publishers doesn’t exist for now. (Going to lean on the Lord for strength and courage in this area also.) I’ll cross that bridge if, and when, I get there. What’s publishing a book? All I want to do is write one.


17 thoughts on “Why I Haven’t Been Able to Write a Book…Until Now.

  1. Oo how exciting! I’m glad you’re picking something close to your heart. Are you doing the NanoWriMo or doing it with no time constraints? I’m also writing a book, but doing it in a month unedited. I’m falling in love with the story already, but the writing isn’t good! Lots of editing will be required. Mines is about grief, but written for young children to help them.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. I know exactly how you feel. My mother who is my only parent I ever had died two years ago and I broke down at work once after someone gave me a sweet books and it have a verse about even if your 15 or 50 when your parent dies you become a orphan.

    I cried hard for 10 minutes and willed myself to stop . Put my big girl panties on and go do your job. I kind of feel like a solier in battle take a bullet but forge ahead. I have done this my entire life.

    I thought if I let the pain she caused me overtake my grief it would not hurt as bad I am guessing. Well a television show burst that bubble.

    It held a mirror to my face it was this week’s ” CODE BLACK”. The resident I the E.R. had a drunk and abusive one and he should up in the E.R. cut up with a head laceration from being drunk and falling on glass.

    The doctor treating him was his son that had finally stopped putting up with him and told him so. But gave him one final check . Later he coded and during cardiac arrest he walked in during chest compressions . He finally pronounced him dead. Walked out and acted like nothing happened . Then he showed anger at a coffee pot . My heart started squeezing as I watched.
    Later he was alone with his father in the morgue. Telling him things he should have before but as soon as he knew his friend walked in the room his demeanor changed in a moment . He was cool and aloof , don’t give crap attitude snapped I am fine when he placed his hand on his shoulder. Each time he he put his hand back on his shoulder . The third time he said “Anger doesn’t replace loss” it clicked . When he said come here and he hugged his friend and coworker even as he protested , finally he hugged him back .

    I completely got it , I was protecting myself from the pain of loss by being angry at my mother for her choices that she made in terrible situations that negatively affected my life . I was mad as he’ll at her when she died but didn’t show it out of respect and I know know love. I wanted her to die at peace.

    If I had not watched Code Blackie don’t know how long I would have held on to this anger and not felt the pain.

    I screamed cried prayed and just released all the two years of grief the last 61 years of agony , rape , molestation, and the lost of a grandchild , the lost of my first love my son’s father . Although I had not loved him for almost 40 years I had forgiven his leaving me 6 months pregnant . I forgave him for not seeing his son until I gave up 9 years back child support. Ten stopped seeing him again.

    He did become a father later in my son’s life and I am great full to God for letting my son have a few years of something I never had and never will have a Dad.

    I had completely stopped going to church after Mom’s death she lived across the country from me. I saw her twice for a week right before her death but could not go watch her die or go to her funeral . But paid for everything as usual .
    Then I put all her pictures in a spare room and could not look at them . But today I feel lighter I feel like I am breathing deeper than I ever have especially the last two years.

    I new I was in trouble when I stopped leaving my home and cutting all ties with everyone but my two natural kids and my grandkids and my husband. But barely there.

    I feel God back in my heart , I feel the deep love I have always felt for my mother and I understand her better. With 9 kids and no man ,they all ran , she worked and swallowed her pain . She gave up 5 more kids for adoption never told a soul and swallowed that pain. I found them all and she met her babies as adults and she was thrilled.

    I always thought she didn’t love me because she never said it unless I made her. She loved me , she is me . She shoved all her feelings down to not kill herself and just pulled herself up by her boot straps and just got it done. She put herself through Nursing School and showed her love to her patients .

    I was a patient advocate in a hospital.

    We both put our feelings down deep to not break down and end up balled up in a corner sucking our thumbs .

    We just became emotional zombies . If you don’the feel you don’t hurt , but oh how you do. Not hurting kills you a piece at a time emotionally and physically .

    Yesterday I cracked wide open , today I start healing .

    Liked by 3 people

  3. i can so much relate to this…………all we want to do is write…….but that simple task gets so easily detracted by the smallest things……..and feeling bad for our characters…….that’s real!
    great post btw! ๐Ÿ™‚

    Liked by 1 person

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