I searched for "Draft" for my image, and got this. Not quite the draft I was thinking, and I don't even like beer, but celebrating the fact that I'm done with the second draft of my book feels like the right thing to do. So, grab your drink of choice whether that be beer, wine, coffee, diet coke... etc. and say CHEERS!
Alright, now that that's out of the way, what now?!
I probably go ahead and be a good girl and wait for the edits to come back. I think this next time it won't be quite so bad. There's definitely still a lot that could be done, and now that I've officially handed over manuscript number two, I have about a dozen things floating in the back of my mind on how I could change this, that, or the other thing.
Oh well, taking a step back will clear those fuzzy pieces that I'm having a hard time seeing clearly.
Writing a memoir is a hard thing to do. Even harder, though, will be sharing it.
I'm happy to report that I've had SO MUCH amazing support around what I'm doing, and every time I have the chance to explain what I'm writing to someone, they instantly connect. This is simultaneously fantastic, and horrifying. No one should relate to what I'm writing, but it is because damn near every person I've met and talked about this with does relate, that I write.
I won't lie to you, when I started writing I was angry. Angry at everyone! Every single person in my life, I had a reason to be angry at them. Maybe not my kids, and you'll get to know another individual in my life who I could never get angry at, but it's because of my pain, deep, dark, emotional pain that I began to write.
I'm not quite so angry anymore.
I don't know what editing fiction looks like, I imagine there are similarities, and now that I've actually done the impossible task of both writing an entire book, and disassembling it and putting it back together, I'm kind of curious to try my hand at writing fiction, but that's not the point. The point is, editing memoir is deeply emotional. It's really all about perspective, right? The events that happened, well, they happened, I can't change them, but it's been a long roller coaster to both have my own perspective growing up in a world full of narcotics and watching them dictate the decisions my family made, to then grow up and look back on it all, years beyond their deaths... Well, not only do I see things differently, but I think I might have just a tiny bit better grasp on how they might have seen it. No one will have the same perspective on this story, even if they are my family and saw some of the things I saw. I think the power in this memoir is in the fact that it is through the pain I've perceived.
The stages of grief are real, and I'm currently in one of them although I'm not sure which one. The hardest part about this, in my experience, is that these stages linger for years. It didn't help that my family died one after another every few years, that as I began to experience a new stage of grief I was thrown back into anger, which I believe is stage 1, maybe 2, for me.
I feel that anger has been my default emotion.
Finally, a few extra years have passed and since no more people are dying, I can feel anything other then anger, and it's a breath of fresh of air. **Takes a deep breath**
Ahhh, that feels good.
Now, draft two is done, at least on my end. #notmyproblem
OH MA GEE... I can put hashtags in my posts. WHAT?!
Well, this is about to get really annoying... ;) ahhh... come on, where's my emoji's at??
Apparently I'm not using the full potential of my millennial status, and neither is my blog.
Haha... K, bye.