It’s the beginning…the tortuous, slow-paced, horrid beginning. My stomach is turning, I’m light headed and it’s too early for me to crack a bottle of Irish Whiskey.
I hate the beginning. I know I’ve said it before, but I feel this time I need to reiterate it. I’ve started the third and final book to my Branded Trilogy.
Yeah, I know, finally.
I’m not quite sure what I was thinking doing a trilogy?
I had no idea where I was going with it either…not one damn clue. I had a few of the characters, villains (only because I kept them from book 2) and a blank screen. UGH!
Do you hear the violin?
I’ve had this book in the back of my mind for months. Fragments or pieces of a story would come to me here and there, but nothing I could lock onto—nothing substantial enough to build a plot and some subplots. Nope, I got pieces of a puzzle that on some days made no sense to me what so ever.
It wasn’t until two weeks ago, after I’d finished editing my novella, that the whole book woke me from my sleep. (This happens to me all of the time)
My fingers couldn’t write fast enough as I penned the backstory, plots, characters, time and place etc.
The next morning I sat down at my computer, and did my daily routine when writing; cracked my knuckles, turned on my playlist (I create a new one for each novel I write) lit a candle, and said a little prayer for inspiration.
Off I went…only to stop a sentence in.
What was wrong? Why couldn’t I write? The ideas were there, the storyline, the problems the solutions…but no words came. I went back to it. Determined to write. The words seemed forced, the writing weak and I ceased again. I read what I’d written and it was crap.
I deleted it and stared at a blank page. What was missing?
If you know me, or have read my previous works you know I place a lot of emotion into my books. A message the reader will take away with them. For example, Chasing Clovers was about Hope. Lakota Honor was about Judging others; Blood Curse was about Trust. I had no hope, no love…no passion for this novel.
I had nothing.
I lost my brother in November and to be honest, when he passed I no longer had the ability to write. Oh, I tried, but I couldn’t put pen to paper and place my soul into the words I wrote. Why? Because I was broken. I watched my best friend die, and I feel empty every day because of it.
Along with my brother’s passing, I’d lost both of my grandparents in the months before, and aunts and uncles who refused to acknowledge any of us in our time of need.
Death changes people, and it has changed me. I was angry for a very long time, and on some days I still am. For a while I lost all faith in humanity, in empathy, and in love. I couldn’t understand how people could be so cruel. How our pain, our hurt meant nothing to them. That my brother, who was the kindest soul, asked where they were and they never came.
As I stared at my blank computer screen, I thought of my brother. How he never found love. How people treated him in his last days. How he never complained. I needed to write him a happy ending.
He was a hero to me and my family…and suddenly my heart swelled with inspiration.
I’d found it…the passion, and the means to write a story fit for a hero.
Happy Friday, Friends!
I love you, Bro!