This morning, I had no idea what I would post about. Should I talk about the editing process, maybe link up to my favorite helpful site on the web? But what fun would that be, I asked. Sure I enjoy editing, probably more than is healthy, but do others? And as I watched my daughter it came to me. She’s grown up so fast.
She’ll be two in mid April. Today, she blew my mind. When she was done with her breakfast, she got down from the table, dumped the left overs in the trash, put her bowl and spoon in the sink and then proceeded to demanded to be able to wash them. She did this all on her on, I hadn’t had my coffee yet. I still haven’t if truth be told. And yesterday, while picking up, she was able to put trash in the trash can and cloths in the laundry, without any more pushing then my handing her a few things and telling her to ‘clean up’
She’s growing up too fast. What happened to my little girl who would giggle and smile and just sit there? What happened to the little baby who would scream out in frustration trying to roll over? And this all got my thinking about my novel.
When I started it on bed rest two years ago, it was a Tween novel. Now, after three rewrites, I wouldn’t let my daughter read it until she’s in high school. My novel has grown up so fast. But, like my daughter is a better person for growing up, my novel is a better story.
Would it have been good book if it had stayed as it was? Oh yes, very much so. However, as my own horrors unfolding in my life, they worked themselves into the book, until it was more powerful, more intense, more heart reaching then it was. A heart warming tale of perseverance in the face of opposition grew up to be a heart pounding fight for survival against unnatural odds, and her very nature stacks the cards against her.
The moral of this blog post?
I’m not sure, to be honest, I haven’t had coffee. I doubt it even makes sense. But the words are out and that’s what matters.
Do you find you rewrite your work to incorporate things from your life that have altered your very being? Have you found yourself writing in your work what you’ve gone through without meaning to do so? Or do you shy away from growing up your writing?