Starting the Journey

    My mind blazes. A fire of thought and emotion rages through the deepest corners of my brain. Sitting in a college coffee shop, I try and sift through the chaos, to pull out what is of value, and put it to pen. The struggle is difficult, though, for many reasons.
I came here, to this school far away from what I know, to start the novel I need to write. The greatest story I have yet lived, the darkest, yet strongest, chapter in my life. A story of betrayal, loss and heartbreak, but also courage, grace and growth. I know pain awaits me in this process, this first serious and committed attempt at writing. I feel ill prepared to capture what needs to be told, to convey the message of my heart.
I’m not sure what expectations I had in being here. I had hoped inspiration would strike like lightning, driving me forward, producing work beyond my talents. Staring at the page, waiting for that magical moment, I know it isn’t coming. I have it all in me, I have the conviction to write it, and I need to just do. Yet it intimidates me still. I feel this is because it is a story I must tell, not one I want to.
The events of my life I am to capture in the novel I start today have changed me, permanently. Though I have steered as much change as possible in a positive direction, it is still something I mourn. Despite the fact that my life now seems flooded with possibility and renewed potential, I can’t help but wonder over what has been lost. Perhaps my life would have remained mundane and in all ways ordinary, but the love I had was not ordinary. The care, affection and adoration I had for someone else was not simple, it was strong and lasting, true in every way. I can’t shake the feeling that I will never love again in such a way, if only because the scars and damage to my heart have left me no longer capable of such pure feeling.
What will become of me now? I will write this novel, pour heart, soul and passion into it. I will push and see it through. I dream of becoming a success, of exploring the world in search of new depth and story worth telling. I feel that these are not mere dreams, that it is merely a matter of time and perseverance for me.
Such success does not breed happiness, however, as is evident in so many of the authors I admire. Too often the source of such emotional creation is pain that tarnishes the beauty of life. Too many of my heroes were suicides. Dark thoughts in the face of this journey I am about to undertake.
I suppose that these are things that I will always struggle with. The same conviction I have in my work I must translate to life. I want to love and care as I did, and so I must put forth the effort to heal and mend, to one day get back to the point of at least being able.
For now, I will just thank you, dear reader. Your caring, attention and connection to me keeps me strong in this. I hope that what I produce is worthy of you, and in fact can move you. I write for those who relate, who value depth and struggle. I am so grateful you exist in this world, too often absent maturity and love.