I’m overwhelmed. While I recently mustered up the nerve to start working on the novel again, I’ve realized I’ve still got a lot of crap that I need to process. I mean, I’ve got this huge chunk of unfinished work about loss—devastating loss—and before I experienced my own devastating loss, I *thought* I knew what I was doing with it and how I was going to write it. Then January came and knocked me sideways. My perspective followed suit.
Not surprisingly, it took this long for me to even think about picking it up again. It took me nearly seven months to even consider thinking about thinking about picking it up. And now that I have, I don’t know what to do. From a practical point of view, do I keep moving in the same direction because I hate to see all that work wasted? Or do I toss it and start again? I have new story to tell, that’s the thing. I’m not sure what’s been written in the past is the story anymore.
A few weeks ago, I started moving things around, expanded the family. Instead of just two siblings—brother and sister—I added a few more sisters, gave mom more presence (Yet, still no decision on the dad. Why? Not sure if it’s the practical or emotional side of my brain that’s making that decision. Probably a topic for another post…), more stuff to help me write what I know.
And what I know is that close families are exceedingly complicated organisms. They are somehow fragile and unstable and fraught as well while at the same time they are stronger and tougher and more resilient than anything on earth.
PS: I've got you singing that song, now, don't I?