The husband is all for me writing, especially if I forsee the writing of a book (i.e., a someday paycheck). As long as I don't write about him. Or my past.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahahahahahahahaha.
Thank you for staying tuned as I hash out my junk. I was telling Christa that all of this must make me sound like a trainwreck, but in reality it feels really, truly liberating to get it out.... and not only to get it out, but to get to choose the words and the mood the way an artist would chose a particular shade of paint. In some small way, I get to control the things that I never had control over in the first place. Sure, I take a few artistic liberties here and there--for instance, I never did lock eyes with my sister at the end of "First Memory", nor do I recall if she was even in the pool at all--but other than things like that, I've kept the stories as true to life as I could recall.
I am wearing my heart on my sleeve. I hope it not only gives you a picture of where I've been, but also gives you compassion for others in your life who are dealing with similar things.
Everything is possible.
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