The truth of the matter is this. I completed my first novel two years ago. I have been writing all my life and continue to push forward with it. I took a one year hiatus following the completion of that first novel before buckling down and working through the editing and final self-publishing. I have since had approximately three novels on the go which are in my mind fantastic. Not by the fact that I’m just this amazing writer or I have astounding new ideas, but because the worlds I have envisioned, or rather the stories that take place in my mind within those world’s, I am truly in love with. I feel for my characters, my heart breaks with theirs and I feel the joy of the new beginnings they seem to stumble upon. I find that for much of what I write it happens all it’s own. The characters write the stories, they chose their actions, and I just happen to be the bystander with a pen and a notebook or a laptop with which to record.
The struggle I have been encountering comes form within though. I find myself becoming so ensnared in their lives that things progress quicker then I seem to be able to record it all and then its gone, like a wisp of smoke in the wind. I try to catch it as it floats by but often i feel inadequate, as if I’m missing vital pieces to express who they are, their pain, their journeys, and their love.
Two years ago directly following the completion of my first novel I was in an accident where I suffered a significant head trauma. I had a concussion which had a major effect on my short term memory, working memory, math ability, and emotional regulation. The emotional impact I haven’t quite nailed down yet other then to say that I can be quite cold hearted without meaning to be.
I feel more for my characters in my books while I work on stories in my head then I often do for the people in my day to day life. I don’t discuss this with people as I fear it would be taken the wrong way. I have no issue distinguishing reality from fantasy or anything of that nature. I’m not crazy. I’m just so thoroughly absorbed in my own imagination that I prefer it over reality sometimes.
I know that by now you must be thinking…”well isnt that the perfect way to accomplish your dream of becoming a published author?” I wish it was. The sad truth is that as I mentioned everything within my imagination moves so quickly, and my memory and ability to express my thoughts or feelings has been so compromised that getting everything it out is an incredible struggle. I have three novels on the go because I simply have to set them aside as I fight with the effort to get the whole story out of my mind. It is frustrating and burdensome to have so much go on internally and not be able to express it externally. I wish I could share it all with you easily. I wish I could show the world what I see.
Some would say to give up and quit something that seems so unpleasant but it’s not the attempt at writing thats unpleasant, it’s drowning in the thoughts, emotions and dreams of the creations of your mind that hurts. I trudge onward with all of them and hopefully will find that I am still capable of completing my work. The fact is, I really don’t know what I am capable of and what I’m not as far as writing goes. I can hope though. And perhaps one day just share it all as it is, complete or incomplete.