National Novel Writing Month is over. I anticipated the community of writers, the newness of a story and the thrill of word counts rising. I have a great story only partially written, to be completed this month. I found the voice for family stories, that now, I need to edit before sending to family. Christmas gifts! I experienced the thrill of productive writing, as I let other things go. All in all, even though, I lost two thousand words last Wednesday (not for my novel, though, thank God), which made me realize I didn't have the time to do the fifty thousand words in one month, I cherish this past month.
This morning, I woke with clarity as to what to do with the two novels of this month. I finished the one from last year and started another. In my fashion, it seems, I saw this morning that the second will be first. I have the complete plot for Outside of Time. Last Free Exit needs a lot of work, yet.
That also seems to be God's pattern. He uses the second first. Abel over Cain, Jacob over Esau, Judah's twins by Tamar, one broke out first, then was born second. Or in David's lineage, the last wife's son, Solomon, was actually born second to Bathsheba. And Jesus said, "The first shall be last."
The writing journey teaches me to lean more on God. The life journey shows me to trust only on the light for the step on I'm on. We must make plans, but stepping only where the light shines, instead of worrying about the miles ahead.
I'm watching one of my dear residents die. A fight for life, even though, she said for a year she doesn't want to live. Sadness over life's blows and disappointments or is it fear of what the subconscious sees in the death haze, that makes dying a struggle? I'm not sure, but I can tell you, the human spirit knows life is God given and fights to hold on, even in depression. A spark keeps that fire of life going. This is bringing back memories of my mother's dance with death. Even to the slipping of consciousness, yet, the declaring, "My Mollie," when I tell them I'm there to comfort.
I hold a hand, I pray, I recite scripture, I sing or hum a hymn. I ask Jesus to have mercy. I hide the sadness in my chest. I fear the tears.
And I know I will use this for my novel. Ted Dekker commented that his books are like a journal of where he was when he wrote them. And so I'm finding with my writing as well. I have a large plastic container of ten years worth of journals. The ones I wrote in every day, when I dreamed of being a writer and worked at the discipline before I deemed declaring I am a writer.
Main Street, I wrote the year after my mother died and a bit of her is in Martha's mother. I described the symptoms of congestive heart failure as they were fresh in my mind. Plus, as a nurse, my case load is mostly of dying hearts in the aging population.
The seed of Summer Triangle came before a pregnancy disrupted our lives, but as I wrote it much of my life experienced what I wrote. I'm still not able to go into the details, but when I think of that NaNoWriMo of 2012, I remember.
Reading books mark times in a life as well. I've been pondering a book my mother recommended I read several years ago, before I was married,
maybe my senior year of high school or freshman year of nursing school. As the daylight grows shorter and dreary, I think of that book. I believe I will go to my basement (I think I know exactly where that book is) and revisit it.
At work, a bag of books sits in the break room. A book I read in junior high winked at me. I just skim through it. It is "smutty," but as I peruse the pages, I see how it took me to the Old South. A well written story takes you places, this novel just took me places a fourteen year old needn't go.
I am looking forward to finishing my novel and revising the other. I am excited of the clarity shown this morning. I am joyful for December first, and grateful for another National Novel Writing Month in the annuls of my writing.