Lunar

I'm not gonna lie . . . part of me is really hoping the dream I had last night was not just a dream, but in some way, a premonition.

I'm barely holding onto you

I spoke of you last night, while having dinner with my friend Kate. Reflected on the fact that when they put you on morphine, I knew then it was the end. And I'd been looking at the calendar, knowing this day, yet again, was coming. That's the funny thing about calendars and anniversaries . . . good or bad, they keep coming. The years pass and yet, you aren't here to enjoy them.

I was explaining to a co-worker today about these letters I write each year to you, how hard I've taken your death in the past few years. What resonates with me, bothers me most is the fact that I really saw your moving to Washington as finally an opportunity to get to know you as a person and not just my grandmother. To be able to build the kind of friendships I have with my mother and her mother. But that opportunity was short and limited; I didn't know how little time we had left.

This past summer, our family traveled across the country and attended a family reunion for Mom's family. All the kids and grandkids and great-grandkids of my maternal grandmother, gathered in one spot for a long weekend of fun and games. And when we got the pictures taken, it was almost magical to see all the lives that were created or touched because of this one woman. I cannot help but try to envision the picture we would have taken with you.

Accepting that you are gone comes easier with time, but there are moments, like today, when its almost too painful to even fully think about. How you were fine and then you were under the weather and then you were in the hospital and gone. I know it was stretched out for a number of weeks, but looking back, it feels like it went by so fast. Too fast to ever fully say the things that should have been said.

You were an amazing woman. You raised two incredible boys to become incredible men. You had a spark and a spirit and a sense of humor that still resound in me. I don't see many hereditary traits that I got from you, but I still know you are as much a part of me.

I just wish you were here so I could tell you this in person.

I miss you so. Love you even more. That will never change.

Always and forever

Your granddaughter

Elizabeth June

Growling doesn't get words on the page

For the most part in writing this novel, I haven't hit much writer's block. Even when I couldn't find the inspiration to piece together a chapter, I'd work on backstory or even write a journal entry as the character, to better flesh out who they are and what they are thinking/feeling/wanting. Since starting this book in October, there hasn't been much writer's block and I am eternally grateful for that.

Slowly and after revision and editing, I have been posting the chapters for friends to read. (So far, the feedback has been kind, but if anyone wants to throw some criticism my way too, I can take it. As long as it's constructive, of course.) And for the most part, I have been spacing them out just so I didn't find myself literally writing the following chapter in order to get it up on the blog. That was how I used to write fac fiction and while having a deadline can be helpful, I have felt that this time around, I have to write this entirely for me.

The next chapter to be posted has been agonized and scrutinized over. I have written it FIVE different ways now, not sure how to go about the semi-pivotal scene. Each way had elements that I liked and elements that I didn't care so much for. None of them felt perfect. I have to wonder if there are chapters in books of other authors that they are never entirely pleased with. There has to be, right?

Version one was written awhile ago. Version two was written about a month later. Version three is really just a combination of one and two, but I still wasn't happy with it. Version four I wrote out last night and this morning but still felt it was missing something. So in the end, I have taken all the parts of the four preceding versions to make one ginormous chapter that hopefully captures what I am trying to create.

You get attached to these characters as you write them. You want to do justice by them, to show them in the correct light and give them all the respect they deserve. It's crazy, really. I haven't started talking about them to other people as if they are really in my life, but I think about them just as much as real people.

So after spending nearly the last eight hours on ONE CHAPTER, I am taking a break and going to have dinner with a friend. I'll probably post it later tonight.

Much love to all of you who are patiently waiting for the posting of each chapter and not laughing at me for even attempting this. It doesn't feel as ridiculous to say "I'm writing a novel." as I worried it would feel, but maybe that is because I am not sitting at a Starbucks all day and banking on this novel to actually get published. There are so many steps leading to even attempting to get published and right now, I just want to see the end of the novel.

And, you know, start the next one.