I am afraid to write one of my stories. It has been in the works for years, collating and shifting in my head, characters coming to life and fading into the background as others arrive. It is truly impossible to describe what this piece means to me – it is my mirror, held up to the world, both as truthful as I can make it, and a strange mix of pragmatism and hope. If I do my job correctly, you will see through my eyes, you will love these characters as completely as I do, you will be as devastated as I am.
If, if, if. I am terrified that it is not going to work. I am afraid beyond measure that people will stare at the words, blankly, and wonder why they meant so much to me.
So, today, I am afraid. I have downloaded the drabbles and outlines I have written over the years, and – wrapped in a blanket against this unseasonable chill – I am beginning to arrange the pieces, beginning to write. I have no way to know what will come of it.
That feels like an odd note on which to end a post, so I will share two things with you:
First, the backyard garden I built with my husband on Saturday! We have blisters and cuts all over our hands, and the tomato plants look a bit surly to have been taken out of their planters and put out in the cold rain, but we are very, very hopeful. As Ron Finley said, “Gardening is the most therapeutic and defiant act you can do….Plus, you get strawberries.”
Second, a question for all of you: I assume we all have a few by now, but who was the first character whose death made you absolutely bawl? Movies, books, videogames, any form of media. (And, everyone – general spoiler alert!)
Have a lovely Monday, all!