Pages 143-148

Writing a book a spiritual process.

Writing a book about the most devastating, challenging experience of your life is… (insert hand gestures)

The particularly hard parts of the book were originally written in third person.

Allison abandons all plans for Allison Ziggy, as she is mortified of what brought her to this point in the first place. She has crippling anxiety those last few weeks in Chicago, and has her friend pack up her apartment, labeling boxes and organizing knickknacks, as she can’t bear to do it herself.

In my mind, I had already written the most difficult parts; this part gutted me.

But as I sat to write yesterday about my early experience of moving to Waxhaw, paired parts of the self doubt I’m facing now, 7 years removed and hundreds of miles away in Philadelphia, it hit me in ways I wasn’t expecting.

I thought the hard parts to write about were in the past… but parts of this past experience mirror challenges I am facing today, and once again, the writing process has touched on wounds that haven’t fully healed yet.

I don’t believe that life needs to be an endless struggle; I don’t even necessarily believe that struggle is valiant, or virtuous, but I do believe that when you experience strife, and struggle, as an artist, you must transmute those experiences into art, if not just for your own sanity.

It doesn’t just add meaning to the pain, but it alchemizes it, taking the energy from an otherwise rock bottom experience, and turning it into something undeniably beautiful. If other people also find solace, that’s part of what it truly means to be alive.

In full disclosure, there are still challenges that threaten to wake me at night. There are still times, where I do wonder what if, but instead of what if I could, it’s what if I hadn’t. (I would still choose this version of the equation every time).

The solution that is quietly presented to me is always finishing this book.

I’m reminded when I open my laptop at 5am and see a notification someone likes a silly status update I posted “might f around and finish my book.”

These kinds of reminders happen quite frequently.

I am sharing this post for a few reasons…

1. I don’t think the healing work is ever done; to be human (much less a writer) is to feel things deeply, and when you take risks, you encounter challenges

2. Pain is meant to be turned into art; it doesn’t always need to be shared, but when it is, it becomes a gift (both the pain, and the art)

3. This isn’t the end of the story, or even the full story; it’s a private moment at 5am I’ve decided to share, so that maybe, if you find yourself going through something that feels similar, you might know that you’re not so alone

4. primal screaming into a pillow helps

5. new pages below- if you enjoy my writing, become a paid subscriber; my best work lives behind the paywall