I am in the midst of writing what I hope is a publishable book. I haven’t yet decided if I will self-publish or look for a publisher. I want to finish it first and have someone I trust read it through and see what their opinion is. I may even go the e-book route. I am up to Chapter Five and it is turning out to be quite different from the book I intended to write.
I wanted to write an autobiography – but writing one under my own name and including juicy details of my life heretofore undisclosed in public could be injurious to several parties, and may not be the smartest move.
It turns out that writing this story is cathartic yet incredibly painful. When I sat down to write I seemed to need to tell the story of my relationship with my Dad, or the lack thereof. It seems as if his living and his passing have had much more of an impact on my life than I realized.
Revisiting his death in my own words is allowing me to deal with it, put an end to the grieving, and move on. It’s been 20 years – it’s about time.
I am excited to see what the rest of the book will look like. I have planned it out, of course, but so far NOTHING is going according to plan with this book. I may finish writing it and then fictionalize it so as not to tick off family members.
Here in my blog I am very careful with what I write about family members – I cherish my relationship with them. How much am I willing to sacrifice in order to see my words in print? Am I willing to burn bridges to tell my story? It’s a dilemma.