Update: April, 2021
This is a consolidation of several posts about my experience with NaNoWriMo in 2017. I’ve since attempted to complete the 50,000-word goal in 2018 and 2020. It remains elusive but still on my bucket list.
in 2017 I was pregnant with Aiden so reading back through them was of course bittersweet.
This was before we heard, “Your son has a tumor in his brain.” This was before the four months of hell in treatment with cancer that doesn’t play fair. This was before Aiden died and our world was shattered. This is when childhood cancer was something that happened to other people’s kids.
I wrote these words back when my biggest problem was heartburn and laundry and finding a comfortable pregnancy pillow. I was 38 years old looking forward to turning 40 when I thought being sober and having two dead parents wouldn’t sound so tragic. I didn’t know that there wasn’t a limit on trauma one person could endure.
As I read through each post I can hear the unprocessed grief for my mother and father. I hear the ever-present need to reassure myself that I am deserving of love and happiness. It’s interesting to see how some of these feelings I have grown out of and some still remain.
In the time between when these posts were originally published and now exists Aiden’s entire life plus more than a year. The short number of days he was on this earth will always feel like a shock to me.
I hope you enjoy this little walk down memory lane, I know I did.
Notes from NaNoWriMo 2017
So I’ve decided to do something a little crazy and sign up for National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) Because… you know… I have so much time on my hands. I mean I have two kids that seem to always need me to drive them somewhere, a husband who works his butt off, a dog that needs to be walked, and for some reason, these beings need me to feed them… like, every day. Oh yea, and I’m 24 weeks pregnant. But hey, what’s one more thing, right?
National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) is a fun, seat-of-your-pants approach to creative writing. On November 1, participants begin working towards the goal of writing a 50,000-word novel by 11:59 PM on November 30.
I am just three days away and prepping like mad to get ready.
The Inspiration
One of my biggest struggles in life is remaining in the present. Too often I catch myself daydreaming about the future or beating myself up over the past. The present is where life happens, it’s where decisions are made and wounds are healed, and sometimes it’s terrifying.
I don’t write fiction so I guess that makes me a “Rebel”. I plan on putting together a collection of essays, journal entries, letters, blog posts, and a general stream of conscious all hopefully tying to the theme of being present.
This year, I’ve given my work the title of There You Are, because…
Where ever you go, there you are.
Day 1
Rather than go for the low hanging fruit I went headfirst into some pretty heavy stuff. I’ll be honest, I’m feeling a little bit of a vulnerability hangover coming on, but it feels good to get some of this stuff out of my head and on to the page.
My writing process is pretty disjointed. I have an idea I get out a few sentences… Maybe a few paragraphs and then I have to stand up a walk around and come back to it later. I’m hoping with more practice the words will flow better. I’m also hoping I can be less judgemental as a type. I spend so much time editing as I go that it makes it harder to get in a grove.
Here is a little bit of what I got done today.
A Letter to my 4-year-old self
September 5th
It’s my birthday today. I am 4 years old. My dad got me a Hello Kitty wallet. It’s red. There is a quarter in it.
Did Ihave a party? Did my friends come? I had good friends when I was young before the business of growing up got in the way. Did I have cake? Did my dad really get us that wallet? Was there really a quarter in it? Was he even there? Mom would know, but I can’t ask her. It’s one of those stories I have told myself over and over and over that it has become part of my history. Maybe my mom heard me tell this story and it broke her heart too much to correct it.
September 23rd
I wake up and my mom takes me to Mama De’s house. I like going to her house. There are lots of kids and we play all day long until my mom picks me up in the evening. We go home. We eat dinner and I beg my mom to scratch my back until I go to sleep. I wake up in the middle of the night. I had a bad dream. I go to sleep with my mom in her bed. Her bed is warm. I don’t have bad dreams when I’m in her bed.
This was the day our dad went missing. His plane went down somewhere off the coast of Vandenberg Airforce Base. They searched for his plane for two weeks. They never found anything.
Day 2
Maybe it’s because I grew up in a small family in a big house with a mom who worked her ass off and a brother who went off to college when I was in 6th grade, but I love being alone. I relish being alone. I need to be alone… even if I’m in a crowded coffee shop like I am right now. It’s like my head, heart, and body all get reset and I can re-enter real life a little less socially awkward and a little more ready to be a person in the world.
An ode to driving alone
My music. My silence. My time. My space. My mess. My direction. My thoughts. I’m alone in the car. It is exquisite. It’s luxurious. It’s almost illicit. I started driving with no destination in mind. I don’t know what made me get in the car, I’m just happy to not be where I was. Back there was too loud there were too many unknowns, too many questions, and needs and responsibilities. Here I am I free to be Emily. I am not a mom or wife. I am not needed and no one expects anything from me. I could drive forever.
Maybe I will.
The only voice inside my head is my own. The only person telling me what to do is me. I don’t want to be the referee or diplomat. I don’t want to say no or yes or answer any questions or help anyone with anything. I want to be alone. Alone is freedom. Alone is energizing. Alone is peaceful and beautiful.
I love my family, but I love myself more. I think this makes me a bad mother. I’m supposed to want them around me all the time. I’m supposed to put their needs above my own… I mean I do, but I don’t always want to. I’m supposed to wear the badge of sacrifice proudly and enjoy every… fucking… minute.
“Isn’t it so great?” they say. “Don’t you love them more than anything?” they say. These questions sound more like accusations. Do people say these things to convince themselves of it? Am I a bad mom if I say no? It’s not so great sometimes and I do love them so much it hurts, but I love myself too.
Time alone reminds me that I am a whole person. That I have thoughts and hobbies and sometimes I enjoy doing nothing but staring out of my car window as I move through this beautiful place where I live.
And then, I see a young boy playing or a little girl laughing or a pregnant mom or a dad with his child on his shoulders and I am all of the sudden uncomfortable being alone. I feel like I’ve forgotten something really important, like my arm. It’s too quiet. I smile as I curse myself as I must admit… I miss those little fuckers.
Day 13
This Almost Didn’t Happen
Life is so beautiful sometimes my heart can barely contain itself.
I’m sitting on a plane looking at my beautiful family and crying. We’ve been up since 3 am. We are all blurry-eyed and foggy-brained. Heading east, into the sunrise for our annual pilgrimage to my husband’s hometown.
Peyton is curled up on her dad’s lap. She feels safe and loved. Owen is curiously looking out the window. I love to watch his brain work. The baby is kicking the inside of my belly, and I am overwhelmed with the possibilities of what this new life will bring to our family. It is all too beautiful. My husband catches my eye just as they are welling up with tears. I smile and quickly look out the window. I am awestruck to see the fire rainbow God has painted across the horizon. It feels like it was made just for me. God is saying, “Yes Emily, you can be happy. You deserve this. You are worthy of all of this love.”
This almost didn’t happen
I had many opportunities to let it slip away, or push It away, or throw it away, but somehow I stayed just on the other side of oblivion. Somehow I walked the tightrope and when I finally fell, I landed in happiness.
