The past few weeks have been both emotionally and physically draining. Being stressed and then getting sick led me down the path of no motivation. Even thinking about writing anything longer than a blog post made me want to curl into the fetal position and cry. But then I felt the agonizing guilt of not writing when I should have been.
That vicious cycle, coupled with everything else that was going on, pretty much shut me down. I couldn’t function. I didn’t do anything but stare at the TV and think about how I needed to get some writing done.
And then, I did. I picked up my pen and put it to paper, and relief washed over me. I felt like everything was going to be all right with the world and that I could get my life back on track. It made me feel like things were finally getting back to normal.
I’m working on my grandfather-in-law’s biography, and it has been interesting. I’m going to be honest, I’m nervous about doing it. I’m nervous that he’s going to hate it when I’m done. But I’m doing my best to tell his story.
Figuring that out took me a little while. I was thinking that I needed to have tons and tons of historical information and stats and names and places from the war. And the book will have those things, but the main focus will be Dale’s story. It will be about his experiences with historical information to back it up.
Until it’s done, I’m not sure how he’ll react to it, but I have to get something down on paper first. It’s been a rough few weeks, but I’m getting there. The words are coming, and that makes me very happy.
