“I am a writer. I am a writer. I am a writer…”
Sadly, I’ve experienced the bipolar episode of writing a lot the last few days, weeks, months. It’s this damn 2nd draft that’s driving me insane. Yes, it changed dramatically from the first draft which was just total word vomit but at this point, I feel more lost than when I started. Confession time: The first time I wrote my first draft I was going through a difficult time in my marriage. I still am, but it was fresh in my mind at the time. I used writing as a therapy. Not a healthy approach I must say since all it did was give me a chance to escape from my real problems but it did give me an outlet to say what I’ve been too afraid to say. I think this is why this book is so important to me.
I had someone read it, a girl who added me on Facebook because we were both photographers. She lives in California and I live in Vegas… so, yep, we haven’t actually met. Safe to say, I do consider her a friend now, even though there hasn’t been an actual face to face interaction there.
Anyways, she is also married, around my age and expressed to me how much she related to the book and the issues that Jane was going through. And that’s when it hit me, I want this book to be exactly what it was for me… therapy. To read it and know that there are other women out there who feel the same way.
Fiction is meant to be outside our reality, we pick up these books and dive into them to escape and be free of our regular burdens.
That’s also what writing is for me.
I find myself escaping into my story so much that I start to neglect everyday things and I truly hope that one day it will be worth all this time and focus.