Addressing The Pain By Writing By Way Of The Sadness
Three years ago, I started simply writing a fiction for tweens, Belle in the Slouch Hat. It is just a story about a young girl who searches for revenge after her brother was killed in the Civil War. I consciously started the story plot for my grandchildren; and I needed something to fill an emptiness in me due to the loss of my precious mother, and another special woman during my life. They died within two months of one another.
Whenever someone we love dies, we have to grieve; there is no way to avoid it. Everyone must undergo the sorrow and agony in their own way. My approach was writing.
After losing those I cherished, it felt as though something was barring my pain and safeguarding me through the cruelty and sadness in connection with death. To this day, I really believe ıt had been the Holy Spirit helping me through essentially the most difficult times in my life. You many choose to call it something else, but I believe it was the Holy Spirit. Eventually after that, the reality of the deaths set in and I had no choice but to go through the next phase of losing someone you care about, the grieving process.
At age sixty-one, I sat at my computer; I started to craft, and I began to recover. I started writing a novel minus the full awareness of what I was stepping into. I didn't stop thinking about how many hours in which I would so willingly give to it, nor did I stop to think there was a correct way of doing it, all I know was I had to write. Sometimes it was down-right physically, mentally, and emotionally painful; other times, I felt drained of every once of energy in my body. Occasionally, my sense of meaning and my most treasured beliefs about life were challenged.
There seemed to be basically no schedule for when I needed to finish; and no one could dictate to me when it would be finished. It required lots of time; not just a day, not a month, not one year, but two full years.
Except for the first three pages of my book, I did not come with an order, or a plot ot follow, I just wanted to write. I even built a imaginary barrier around me and didn't want anyone to know just what I was writing, except my better half.
The more I wrote, the more I need to to write. Writing provided an outlet to cry, to laugh, and have an adventure. Unconsciously, I had fashioned my own, personal support group with the people within my story. For me, it absolutely was a safe setting to share my emotions and process my sadness. I also found the best way for me to appreciate those I lost.
Whenever someone we love dies, we have to grieve; there is no way to avoid it. Everyone must undergo the sorrow and agony in their own way. My approach was writing.
After losing those I cherished, it felt as though something was barring my pain and safeguarding me through the cruelty and sadness in connection with death. To this day, I really believe ıt had been the Holy Spirit helping me through essentially the most difficult times in my life. You many choose to call it something else, but I believe it was the Holy Spirit. Eventually after that, the reality of the deaths set in and I had no choice but to go through the next phase of losing someone you care about, the grieving process.
At age sixty-one, I sat at my computer; I started to craft, and I began to recover. I started writing a novel minus the full awareness of what I was stepping into. I didn't stop thinking about how many hours in which I would so willingly give to it, nor did I stop to think there was a correct way of doing it, all I know was I had to write. Sometimes it was down-right physically, mentally, and emotionally painful; other times, I felt drained of every once of energy in my body. Occasionally, my sense of meaning and my most treasured beliefs about life were challenged.
There seemed to be basically no schedule for when I needed to finish; and no one could dictate to me when it would be finished. It required lots of time; not just a day, not a month, not one year, but two full years.
Except for the first three pages of my book, I did not come with an order, or a plot ot follow, I just wanted to write. I even built a imaginary barrier around me and didn't want anyone to know just what I was writing, except my better half.
The more I wrote, the more I need to to write. Writing provided an outlet to cry, to laugh, and have an adventure. Unconsciously, I had fashioned my own, personal support group with the people within my story. For me, it absolutely was a safe setting to share my emotions and process my sadness. I also found the best way for me to appreciate those I lost.
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