June 23, 2016, we had just celebrated my grandfather’s last birthday and I was coming to terms that losing him was inevitable. So I started scribbling down notes on whatever I could find until it combined into what I thought was a short story. I expected my writing to be an outlet for my feelings, to let off some steam. Instead, I found a safe and healing place where I belonged.
When you start working towards a dream you can’t help but expect all the wonderful things you’d be able to easily achieve. I expected my story to finish in 5 pages but it turned into a novel. I expected my novel to finish in a year, instead writing courses popped up and they brought learning opportunities for me to edit the entire novel. The courses also helped me fix my point of views and my plot even more.
I expected to stop after a few mistakes and writer’s block, but the story kept pulling me into the world I created for it. I expected to stop after my grandfather’s funeral and the loss of two uncles. Instead, I felt an enormous force of energy pushing me through. I wrote my way through numerous hospital visits, three funerals which were followed by several memorials. I expected to stop after each heartbreak, but I kept going.
Recently, when I began discussing these things aloud I expected to be criticized instead, I was faced with a lot of love and support.
As June 26th, 2018, marks my second writing anniversary I’d like to send a message to anyone following through their dreams: I sincerely hope that your journey will be magical enough for you to soar above your expectations.