By November 15, I had written 29,993 words towards my memoir. I was on a roll, knocking out 1000-3500 words each day. Granted, much of it felt like junk that I will rewrite a hundred more times, but I didn’t care. I refused to edit as I went. I counted every single crap word. Because the first step in writing a book is getting that shit down on the page.
Right around November 17, I hit a wall. I had an entire afternoon alone. A hotel room all to myself. Usually being solo in a hotel is a magical time for my writing. But this time, when I sat down to write, my mind was completely blank. I couldn’t make the pen move across the page.
I had intensely relived memories from October, November, and December 2015. Months when we traveled to Boston for the first time, when David got the initial job offer from Harvard, when I called my Atlanta realtor, when we got scammed by movers, all the way up to our first Christmas in Massachusetts. When I sat down to remember what came next, I ended up with a memory block. No matter what I tried, I couldn’t find my way back into the memories that followed. I looked at my outline to choose a scene to write, and not one memory surfaced.
So I did what I usually do when searching for a cure for writer’s block: I went for a walk on the beach. And this is what I saw:
Light streamed out of the dark cloud, hot tears burned my cheeks, and I heard a gentle whisper calling me to take a break from the past and to live in the here and now.
As I walked, I considered there might be a reason they call it National NOVEL Writing Month and not National Memoir Writing Month. Writing a memoir is emotionally exhausting. It can’t be done in a month.
Heck, maybe writing fiction is emotionally exhausting too. Writing in general is emotionally exhausting. But fiction feels a little more fun—a bit more free. Anything can happen in fiction! When you write fiction, you can weave in and out of the story. Even when you get emotionally attached to the characters, you can remind yourself it’s not real; you can distance yourself from the story’s pain.
But when writing memoir, you relive the memories. With every word you write, you time travel back into that moment. Except you aren’t the same person you were when it happened. It’s a little like in the second stave of A Christmas Carol where Scrooge watches himself as a child. You’re the audience to your own story, but you are so deeply connected to the memories—they are yours after all—that you can’t help but feel the feels all over again. When you’re reliving sad memories, you intensely feel the sad. And when you’re reliving the happy memories, there’s gratitude and happiness, but there’s also this twinge of sadness that the happy memory is in the past, not in the here and now.
When writing a story of any kind—fiction or memoir—there has to be some kind of crisis, and there has to be the working through of the crisis. For the first two weeks of November, I intensely lived my way back through the crisis, but I didn’t have the strength or stamina to make myself live through the many ways we tried to recover from the crisis.
There have been so many times when I considered giving up on this book. Why voluntarily put myself back in the traumatic memories when I could just bottle it all up and move on with life? But then I hear stories of times when you, dear reader, felt lost or confused; like you were wandering in search of home. And I know every minute I spend digging into my own memories is worth it. Not just for your sake, but for mine too. The story of grief and pain has to be told in order to find the redemption at the end.
I know there’s redemption in the end.
I’m living the redemption.
After my solo night alone in the hotel, I came home early to spend some quality time with my husband and kids. To live in the here and now. Then I got sick with a nasty cold and a terrible cough that kept me close to home for Thanksgiving and still won’t leave me alone. I think my body is crying out for true rest. My mind needs a good, long reset.
I *won* NanoWrimo, with a final word count of 54,993. But I kinda cheated, because 25,000 of those words were written prior to November 1. I set a personal goal of 75,000 to make up for that, but I didn’t reach that goal. So maybe I actually failed. But it’s okay. I’m further along than I was one month ago, and that alone is reason to celebrate. In a couple of months, I will pick up where I left off, but for now, I’m letting myself ease into a slow Advent and Christmas season.
I’m loving this Advent playlist from A Sanctified Art and am playing it on repeat when I bake cookies and bread.
This morning, I finished Dracula for the Well Read Moms group I signed up for. I have a lot of thoughts about it and am looking forward to the discussion about it later this month. Have you read it? What did you think?
My beloved book club as well as our homeschool book club is reading A Christmas Carol. I have read it before, but am finding the experience of reading it with my kids to be so rich and deep, particularly because we’re learning about the Victorian Age in history and it dovetails so nicely.
Speaking of the kids, Dear Mr Dickens is a delightful children’s book highlighting the story of Eliza Davis, who sent letters to Charles Dickens calling him out on anti-semitism.
For my own learning and study this Advent, I’m using a booklist from Little World Wanderers which includes The Man Who Invented Christmas, Holy Hygge, and All Creation Waits. Advent is the perfect time to cozy by the fire and read lots of books.
This Sausage Lentil Soup never disappoints. When I made it last, I didn’t have any greens in the house, so I added a potato with the lentils. No one complained.
It’s almost time to make Gramma’s Swedish Tea Ring!
Last week, we kicked off our month of baking with these World Peace Cookies. I had to freeze them so they didn’t all get eaten on the same day. If only world peace was as easy as eating yummy cookies…but I do think there’s something powerful about praying for peace as you take each bite.
This pumpkin bolognese takes a long time, but is so worth it in the end. I like to make it on a weekend when I know I’ll be home all day. You can use any winter squash in place of the pumpkin.
This seven minute movement examen is a beautiful way to ground yourself in grace and gratitude. In a season that often feels rushed and busy, stopping for seven minutes of intentional, mindful movement can be such a gift.
May you find moments of stillness and peace in the coming weeks.
Until next time,
You did win!! I’m so impressed. Give yourself the break you need. ❤️
Love seeing how far you came this last month and the grace you’re giving yourself.