Edits

 I started working on the book. I was nervous to look through it. It’s broken little pages trying to fit together. There were pages where the words simply stopped, hanging on to nothing and then pages where I wove things together perfectly. Maybe not perfectly. 

I told my therapist about this book. about how it was a bridge into my new life. How when I started it, I was cracking open. How Rob and I would stay up together, editing pages and discussing characters. In reality he was helping rebuild me, helping me pick up pieces of myself and put them where they should have been years ago. This is the book I needed at 12 and again at 40. This is the book my daughter needs now. So it was painful to open it and see how I had abandoned it. The lights were off and I had to stumble a bit to adjust to where I was in the story. I had to get the lights back on.

Then it was bright. I could see where I was again. I felt the familiar pull, the need to show them how to escape. How to stand up and take charge. The need to show my characters the light at the end of the tunnel. I am there. Now I can guide them through all of it. 

I wandered through the house yesterday, one foot here, one foot in the world of my book. Half talking to myself and half talking to my characters. Excited for the adventure that awaits them. The adventure that awaits me.