I sat back in my chair and stared at the computer screen, a little stunned at what had come out of my head.
It was the fastest I had ever written six hundred words. It was probably twenty minutes, but it felt more like two. The words had been rattling around in my brain for weeks, arranging and rearranging themselves, moving in and out of focus, and I just let them stay there, knowing that they would let me know when they were ready.
I was making my way into work last week when the story began writing itself. I got to my office, threw my coat over a chair and fell on my computer. I called up my blog and opened a new post. My fingers started flying over the keyboard, the words gushing out of my head and pouring themselves onto the screen.
As I wrote, a wave of emotion rose up inside me and my eyes blurred with tears born of feelings I hadn't yet let myself feel, anxiety I had pushed aside and doubt that I had stubbornly refused to address.
I had been stoically soldiering on, putting one foot in front of the other, focusing my eyes straight ahead, for fear that a slight deviation from the path I was on would cause a fissure into which those feelings could creep. I was afraid it would knock me off course, and that I would never again be able to find my way.
The ground I had been walking was uneven, riddled with potholes and boulders seemingly too heavy to move, I was sluggish with exhaustion, and my shoulders were sagging under the weight of the load that was mine to carry.
My fingers raced faster and the story took shape. I thought that the sentences were probably terrible, the grammar a mess, but I kept on writing. For the first time, I didn't obsess over the words I was using or how they all fit together. I didn't go back and read over paragraphs once they were finished or sensor myself for fear of what others might think.
This time, I wrote for me. To help myself find some order. To gain some perspective. With each word I wrote I felt stronger. I felt a light fill the dark space inside of me that the words had occupied, and the anxiety that had been my constant companion began to slowly ease.
When the last word was written, through my astonishment I found myself smiling radiantly, filled with the glory of finally owning this story. This piece of my journey that I did not choose, but that I embrace nonetheless.
I saved the essay without making a single change. For a second I thought about pressing "publish" but I didn't. Instead I closed it and tucked it away, not quite ready to share this part of me. This story that is mine, for better or for worse.
This story that I won't - that I can't - ever stop writing.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Monday, December 2, 2013
I am a published author.
Wait, let me say that again. Let me yell it from the rooftops. I am a published author.
As I mentioned at the beginning of November, a piece I wrote on my blog, of which I am incredibly proud, was chosen as one of the essays to be published in an anthology of essays on female friendship called The HerStories Project: Women Explore The Joy, Pain, and Power of Female Friendships. This book is filled with works on female friendship in its many forms, how it shapes us, changes us, and enriches our lives beyond measure.
Stephanie and Jessica, the editors of the book, have chosen these works with love and care. Every reader will recognize herself in the pages and will find herself, as I did, nodding in agreement, shaking with laughter, and crying tears both happy and sad. I am so honored to have my essay published alongside some truly wonderful writers, and quite literally jumped up and down with glee when my advance copy arrived in the mail two weeks ago.
And today. Today this amazing book is available for sale on Amazon, so you too can read all the beautiful tales of friendship from the heartwarming to the heartbreaking. Click on the Amazon affiliate link below to order your very own copy, and then slip on some comfy clothes, grab a cup of tea, dive right in, and give a moment of thanks for all of the women in your life. I know I will.
This is one of the best things I have ever had the very great privilege to be a part of. To see my name in writing in the pages of a book is indescribable, and to have the connection to the other 49 women whose very moving essays were also included is something I will cherish always.
Saturday, November 30, 2013
Friday, November 29, 2013
Thursday, November 28, 2013
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
If you live or work in Manhattan, as I do, there are certain signs that the holiday season is about to kick into full swing. More than just the selling of holiday cards at the Papyrus on 6th Avenue which have pretty much been available since September, or the Christmas decorations on Radio City Music Hall which have been up since October because of the Radio City Christmas Spectacular.
I'm talking about the signs that start to pop up during Thanksgiving week. The decorations and the people who are absent one day, appear the next day out of nowhere, and become to quickly and neatly ingrained into the landscape of Midtown Manhattan that you can hardly remember a day when they weren't there.
Yesterday on my way to work I stumbled upon three such signs:
|The Rock Center Christmas Tree Star|
|The lit up trees and the ornaments stacked in the fountain|
|Dancers for the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade|
The season is officially underway.
Happy day before Thanksgiving to you and yours.