Joy can mean so much to so many different people. For me I felt pure joy last night. I spent the day determined to write write write in the fictional book I am writing. I actually wrote 8,472 words and finished the first draft of my novel. Talk about exciting.
I think back to how I began writing. It was to keep my friends and family abreast of what was happening to my little baby girl. I started a Care Page. Those first fifteen days of writing were while she was a live and the last day, the day she died, was written within a few days of her passing. It took me three days to write with tears pouring out of my eyes. I can remember my husband Keith telling me to stop and come back later to finish it. I told him no. The memories were still fresh in my mind. It was important for me to remember as much as I could. Memories fade slowly but surely after time. I needed to get them all written down before I forgot something.
At the time my writing did not bring me pure joy and happiness. It brought about heartache, sadness and despair. I was able to use my writing as a tool. It helped me in a time in my life when most other things couldn’t. My writing helped me with my grief. I was able to hash out so much through it.
As a result, my writing has slowly transformed. I started my first ever attempt at something completely 100% fiction. It all came from my lil’ ol’ head. Amazing. I never in a million years thought I could do something like this.
Now my writing brings me pure joy. God has given me a gift. I keep being told by those who are critiquing my work that I am writing about a hard subject. For me it is not as hard. I can tap into those emotions of losing Mari and use them in my writing. I can show the reader feelings they may never understand.
So for me, I have found joy in writing. I have found something that makes me happy. And the kewl part is I get to share it with you.