Ronan. Remember that time that I said I was going to actively start writing on this blog again and then months went by without me writing a word? Me too. This life without you feels like I’m on a non-stop hamster wheel that I cannot seem to get off of.
Everything is so busy. And in between busy I’ve been working non stop on this book that I just cannot seem to let go of because in my mind, it’s never going to be good enough. I am constantly second guessing myself, but day after day I continue to write and put in the work. Any free time I have belongs to your book. And by free time I mean waiting for the oil to get changed in my car, waiting for an appointment, sitting in a parking lot in between school drop offs… my laptop is out and I am writing. And when I am not writing, I am writing in my head or in the notes section on my phone or in the 1 out of 7,000 notebooks or journals that I carry around with me at all times. The only time I can seem to quiet my mind is at the 80 minute hot yoga class that I have been taking which is currently saving my life. And even when I am there, I have to actively force my mind to shut the fuck up. I know I went insane a long time ago but this kind of insane, the one where you are reliving your real life worst nightmare all over again by writing the story down is a totally different type of beast. It is this self inflicted kind of torture that should have killed me by now, but because I am so stubborn I refuse to let it. I’ve stopped and started this book so many times. I’ve hated it. Erased words. Ripped up pages and thrown them in the trash. Re read my words and sobbed because sometimes I can’t believe they are my own and sometimes I can’t believe how good they are. I’ve hated myself. Loved myself. Been so proud of myself but I also have that layer of self doubt that always seems to be lingering about. The only thing keeping me going is your sweet little face that I see at the end of the finish line. This is for you. All of my blood, sweat, tears, vomit…. all of my self doubt because who the fuck am I?
I am not a writer.
Today, I had one of those days where I cried over everything. I had some stupid errands to run but it was the type of day where everything felt hard, even just a simple trip to the UPS store. I was feeling overwhelmed, a little sorry for myself and I was truly just missing you. A few days ago my agent put me in contact with someone who said she could help take a look at this book. I had a phone call with her and she agreed to take a look at things. I told her I would send her everything but I warned her that it was still really messy and asked her to please ignore all holes that needed to be filled in.
As I was pulling out of the UPS store where my mind was so foggy that I seriously lost my car keys for 35 minutes before finding them in a weird part of my yoga bag that apparently eats keys, I got a text from the person I had sent my book to. It said:
“Maya. Reading and crying and crying and reading. You are a fantastic writer. It needs a little polish but it is so raw and articulate.”
As I read her words, my stomach dropped and I had to pull over. I read her words over and over again as the tears poured down my face. Hearing those words from this stranger today, who lives in the literary world meant everything to me. You know what I decided today, Ronan?
I am a fucking writer and I have the most heart wrenching, beautiful story to tell all because of you. I think deep down I’ve always been a writer but it was you who led me here. I am trying my hardest to make you so very proud and I promise to finish what I’ve started. I am so very close. Thank you for constantly pushing me through this process. Because of you, I can do hard things and I can do them well, even when I think I suck.
I love you so much.
G’nite, little man. I miss you. I love you. I hope you are safe.