There is this thing that happens when I am grieving, where time loses all meaning. When my grandmother Lois died at the end of second grade, I somehow managed to block out most of third grade. When my aunt Ka died, I think it was 2005, the next couple of years were foggy as well. This year, of course, has simply been one moment followed by the next without me paying attention to any of them. That said, I cannot tell you when the offer I am about to write about was presented to me. I can, however, tell you that my mother came to me in a dream and told me that I needed to see if said offer was still on the table.
On Monday, Facebook sent me a memory. Four years earlier, I had completed NaNoWriMo, passing the 50k mark and finishing my novella. It was a very good day for me, and I was very proud of what I had accomplished- writing so many words in under a month was quite the feat. I looked at this Facebook memory and felt sad, however, because for the past 4 years my novella has been languishing in my Word documents, waiting to come out and play. I recalled my mother in my dream, and I sent a message to a cousin I have only met a handful of times. I do not know her very well, but I am hoping to build a better relationship because she offered to help me with the book, on a professional level, a while ago. At the time, the offer did not register to me, likely because of my overwhelming grief that blotted out anything that mattered. But after my dream, and after seeing the memory on my Facebook, I took these things as signs and sent off a message asking if she was still willing to help out. Guess what? She is.
And so, I sent my little bookie off to be read by a professional. After I sent the email with the attachment, I started to panic because it occurred to me that I don’t know what happens in the book anymore! I took it out and started to read on my phone, but then decided to skip the first couple of chapters because I have read them a million times. This is the section of the book that has been most edited- the rest of it, and some sections at the end, I had not read in years. I started around chapter 4 and I read through the first part. The next day I read through the second part. And when I was done, oh my goodness!
I am ny own worst critic, I always have been, I always will be. I think most of what I write is trash and belongs in an incinerator, and I need other people to tell me when a piece is good, because I don’t believe it until they say so. Even then, I have trouble with their evaluations sometimes. Now, don’t get me wrong, I do occasionally write a piece that I truly love. I know I have talent, or else I would not be pursuing this passion of mine.
However, there is a rare occurrence where I will be reading my words and be so blown away that I don’t believe I could possibly have been the one that wrote it. On the back jacket of my poetry collection, I mentioned that I feel like some strange spirits do the writing for me- that is so true. It is those spirits that write the words that blow my mind.
I went on Threads (P.S I have officially moved off of the Bird App and will be using Threads henceforce) and I asked the writers if they ever felt this way, and most of us do. Most of us feel surprised by our writing, if not always impressed. My writing surprises me a lot. And you know really surprised me this weak? My little novella, about grief and generational trauma and mothers and daughters. My book that I wrote before I even needed to read it.
My writer’s block is still here, even though I am penning this blog, even though I am working on my novella. Nothing new is coming, which is disappointing, and I am here writing about writing because I don’t have another topic. I would really like some poems to pour out of my fingertips, but I guess the loetry world is on hiatus until I get some more inspiration. However, I am bolstered by this new development with my little book, and I am looking forward to what comes next. I am proud of myself for what I have written, which does not happen often, but when it does it is an amazing feeling.
Happy friday!
Ham 'N Eggs- by Brigid Hannon 
Congratulations on sending your manuscript off. That is such a rush. Nine years ago I sent off the first three chapters of my manuscript with a prospectus. Unfortunately, the editor who read the prospectus remembered that he wanted to write a book on the same subject and returned the chapters to me. My book was complete; his was not yet begun. His book was published this year; mine remains in my files. You have encouraged me to dust it off and send it off again. Thank you. Good luck with your novella.
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