Your Book is in You

Your book is in you. 

The tools are the laptop, desktop, old school journal. 

Most of us press post here; however slow and hesitant.

Some of you are still researching the right reference content and time to put yourself out there and, from a recovering grandmaster procrastinator, there is no right time. 

So, post.

Flip, my memoir, has taken shape. The help and support I asked the universe for has come back to me ten fold. 

But! For now a nature hike is the antidote from the strain of hyper focus and being hunched over and squinting.

Feeling the full range of my breath from the top of my lungs to the lower rib cage made me realize how shallow and panicked my breathing had become.  I’m breathing in fresh air miles away from freeway exhaust.  Surprisingly, I’m alone for the entire hike. 

I’m shirtless to use my torso as a solar panel to collect more Vitamin D. 

With each step I give thanks. 

I have strong legs to walk up and down a steep hill. 

I am blessed with eyesight to devour the vibrant colors.  You look with your eyes and see with your brain.  I’m gifted both. 

I have the means to drive to a trail. 

Spiritually, behind and alongside me I have the A team of friends and supporters wanting to see me win. 

I get back to my car. 

Fuck.

My laptop is gone. 

There are no security cameras.  Someone followed me.  I should’ve known better.  Wait, this shit happens along this strip of road according to the cop who took my report.  I didn’t hide my laptop as good as I thought.  I don’t have the money to replace my shit.  Things were going too smoothly.  This is a test from God to see if I really want to publish my book.  I took my eye off the prize and this is my punishment. 

I never backed up my journals, book and screenplays.  This screws up my timeline for publishing. 

Wait, Norm.  Just stop. 

All these thoughts launch in different directions.  It’s like herding cats.  I’m grasping at the most soothing one to make sense of this. 

Focus, Norm. 

If you had to start over from blank page could you? 

I’m collaborating with my son, a preternaturally creative gifted soul, to workshop and start a mood board for cover art for Flip. 

He knows some of my story and I’m shielding him from other stuff until he’s of age to learn I’m not just Dad, but was a kid like him who made wrong choices and has life scars. 

A thief will steal his possessions.  His heart will break.  And he’s also recording how I respond to my laptop being stolen. 

I remind myself that I lost a parent.  Lost relationships.  Experienced betrayal.  Had shit stolen from me. These are givens.  They come with life. 

What a better way to teach him to handle loss than to model a productive response while acknowledging this shit sucks.

How can I possibly spiral back into darkness when I have so many quality souls in my tribe?  Substack is my sole audience and exclusive club until I cross the threshold of self-publication. I’ve been on here for a few weeks and support and quality newsletters are the standard.

Every theory on why my laptop got stolen are off ramps from the direction I want for me. 

Thieves stole my writing tools.

I’m not separated from my tribe.

I am my book. 

I thrive.