It’s been a really interesting life.
I don’t say that from a despondent sense. It’s true: last night, when we got home from taking Porter back to UGA, I hid in our bedroom, just after dark, telling Jared I was going to bed at about 6:45 PM. That it was a sleep emergency ( I have those).
But by about 7:15, I called for him, telling him I was hiding. He said he knew that.
I do that, too: I hide. Even in my own house. I retreat to the bedroom, to my bed, which is my haven when the world is too overwhelming.
Jared was able to coax me out from hiding about an hour later.
Back to the “interesting life” bit… Several weeks ago, I bought a fresh copy of Scrivener.
I had Scrivener several laptops ago, but I never did a whole lot with it the last go ‘round.
This time, though: there is already the pages for thirteen different chapters…
I’m going to write a fictionalized memoir.
My life would make an excellent fictionalized psychological thriller.
So anyway, that’s a thing that’s in process.
And maybe it will be an income-generating project eventually. But that’s not the primary purpose.
The primary purpose is therapeutic writing. I can pound out my heartache, my trauma, my life observations….all in fictionalized memoir format.
I can say things through fiction that I cannot say via a publication in real life.
And someday, it will be done. Probably someday sooner than later, if I can properly focus well enough this winter. I desperately need a project to channel my energy into, and writing has always been one of my stronger suits.
And goodness knows, my life story, drama-filled as it has been, is the perfect fodder fuel for a highly fictionalized work.
So yeah. That’s a thing. A thing I can sink my teeth into since gainful employment is elusive, to also vent my anger, heartache, hurt, grief, and trauma all at the same time.
