Writing 101, Task Three: Write about a Loss
My very first post on Word Press explores the greatest loss of my life, so I am going to cut and paste that post and call the task done because I just don’t feel like crying today:
Sometimes, it takes an accumulation of devastating life-changers to send someone sprinting back into the comfort of writing. To borrow the words of one of my characters, “Beneath the tumultuous sea of tears, there came a revival in her soul, gasping and spitting out the mire from her heart in wicked wretches of laughter.” Over the past couple of years, I have come to the realization that life really is too short to waste one breath NOT doing what I am meant to do. My love for writing began when I scribbled out my first novella at eleven years old and set my heart ablaze. I even earned my BA in English after surviving my poetry-writing teens, and I went on to earn my MA in Humanities with an emphasis in Literature. I have also been teaching English Language Arts full-time since 1996, inspiring others to write nearly everyday.
Funny though, I had only managed to wade in the depths of writing as an adult with just a handful of unfinished manuscripts to be ashamed of. I had allowed circumstances, self-doubt, and the overwhelming fear of where to begin in the publishing industry to keep me on the outside looking in. I finally learned, though, that some things are destined to be in my life, no matter how long I had gravitated towards the wordless, mundane world I had created for myself over time.
Almost three years ago, my dying mother came back to life, and then, several months later, my brother died. When I could finally cope, I turned everything around–for my parents, for my children, for my husband, and for myself. I made some dramatic changes in my life, including snagging my brother’s middle name (Wayne) and embracing the sleeping writer inside of me awaiting the kiss of life after all of these years. I dusted off an old manuscript that I had barely begun over a decade ago and rewrote it from beginning to end with some self-induced writer’s drought in between. And, like the baby that it is to me, I finished developing it in nine months, and I am almost ready to start pitching it.
At my core, I am at peace with the tragedies on my journey, and my cup overflows with joy. I only wish to be contagious with love and laughter, spreading smiles across various platforms as I keep moving forward in my pursuit of becoming a published romance novelist. I am not afraid anymore because I know that my big brother is watching over me, whispering, “Stop wading, Brooke. Go ahead and dive head first with all of your heart!”