The old manuscript sat on my desk for weeks before I mustered up the courage to begin. The worn pages told a story in and of themselves. The story of my mother and all her choices. How she let a fire go out in her that once burned bright. Self-doubt caused a flutter in my chest. Could I finish what she started?

Let’s just say the weeks and months that followed included a lot of floor pacing. I would read a chapter and digest it slowly along with another handful of almonds from the kitchen pantry. I remembered that some of the characters were based on people my mother met when she stayed in Bucyrus, Ohio, a town where my dad was stationed during World War II. But I knew that trail was cold. If I was going to finish the project, I had a lot of research to do.

Now don’t laugh, but for much of the work, my “standing desk” was my ironing board. I’ve since graduated to the old clock bench that belonged to my father.  Dr. James Levine’s article referencing sitting as the new smoking compelled me to stand. Anyway, the standing part made the pacing part much easier. Parked in the middle of the living room, I had a clear view of the field next to our little farmhouse. Ophelia’s playlist played in the background and helped me focus.

In the days that followed, I did find a rhythm to the writing. After breakfast and a walk outside, I would turn my thoughts to my protagonist, Elizabeth, and how lonely she might be. The more I wrote the more hopeful I felt. I found great joy in it. The creating. The rewriting. I was learning a new craft. But had I known about the research and revisions to come, well, I’m glad I didn’t. The process has been beautifully fulfilling, but it has also been frustrating. I’ll confess, occasionally in the early days, I cried and questioned if I had it in me. Hearing from my editor that I needed to cut the ever-so-brilliant scene was painful, but I always knew she was right. I’ll tell you about her sometime. She is the best.

On the days that the creativity flow was more like a trickle, I’d read an article online or listen to authors on YouTube offering words of encouragement. Don’t quit! Whatever you do, just keep writing. I’m so glad I didn’t give up. I’m so glad I had an editor that pushed me again and again to write better. Who doesn’t want their work to be compelling? It’s my hope that these stories speak to someone in a meaningful way. And yes, we all have to start somewhere.