08. Too Little, Too Late
It’s been 84 years…
Well, not really, but it feels like it.
The last time I wrote out my thoughts it was April and I was working on The Bonai Chronicles and life was sweet, and kind, and merry.
Not much has happened since then: I took a mental break. I had some recovery time after a bad cycle from my PCOS. And I finished the first draft of a new story idea, House of Frank.
The idea for this new story came to me after Memorial Day weekend. June is sometimes a bad month for me. For some reason, grief really rears its ugly head and I don’t know if I think about my mom consciously or if it’s just muscle memory at this point. But I was a little depressed this past June because June 2020 was when I received some of the worst news of my life. It was when everything changed.
It began the journey of learning to navigate life without the presence of my mother.
Grief is such a fickle and strange thing. It’s a straight line. It’s a circle. It’s joy. It’s sadness. It’s resting in the memory of watching The Wiz with my mother in her bed, kicking our feet, and eating candy. It’s breaking down crying when cleaning my room and her favorite song comes on. It’s everything and nothing at the same time.
The idea of House of Frank was birthed from this feeling. The ache and the subsequent joy I get from my mother. The Bonai Chronicles is such a big part of my life. It’s everything that I’ve been carrying in my heart for years. But it’s also such a big project. And writing a story, writing your story, doesn’t always happen in a straight line. Sometimes when you are pressed to write something else or take a break, you need to take it.
As much as I want to finish The Bonai Chronicles and it’s good to have a time goal, it needs time to mature. I need to address the aching that I feel right now. I need to address the little girl in me crying out for her mother and not stuff her down because I have other things I want to finish.
She needs attention. My grief needs attention. And this little story about love, family, and grief is the outlet that I choose to unleash it. And I think that is the beautiful thing about being an artist. That’s the beautiful thing about being a writer. You have the freedom to express how you feel and you don’t have to wait. There’s an urgency to get it out and it’s cathartic as hell. That’s why you do what you do. It’s an expression of yourself and as nice as having goals for publishing is, it’s nothing compared to finally releasing something that’s been weighing on your chest.
When working on such large projects, it’s common to take breaks and give yourself time to recuperate after experiencing such heavy emotions. But this is my reminder to you. Don’t forsake those tiny projects. Don’t forget the poems, the prompts, the short stories, and the paragraphs in your Notes app where you are free to express how you really feel. It’ll make you feel so much lighter.
Your story will always be there for you and when you get back to it, you’ll be older. You’ll be wiser. And it will never be too late to write your story.