Do I really want to do this? Yes. I've spent the last year pulling together my notes from the Ghost Ship trial, but that's only half the story. Chelsea's life takes up most of the space in my brain. I'm trying to incorporate bits of her into the narrative. It's hard. She is the reason I'm writing in the first place, but the work is too long. I've finish my first shitty draft and my second okay draft with 510 pages and almost 96,000 words. A publishable book is usually 80,000 words. I need help. An editor will pare down my excess verbiage and allow the story to make sense. Perhaps this blog could be the place where I gather all my Chelsea Stories.
In the meantime, I've wondered about re-entering real life. Old Friends haven't seen much of me. Between Covid isolation and writing, my social life has evaporated. I've joined a few workshops at Spirit Rock, the zen buddhist retreat in West Marin. I've also joined writing groups in Barcelona, Spain and most recently in Skala Eressos on the island of Lesvos in Greece. Writing with others is satisfying on two fronts, concentrated effort and the companionship of kindred souls. Aside from that, my days begin and end at home in front of the computer. No time for chit chat. Hmmmm... That's actually a pretty superficial take on my hermit-like existence. I haven't ventured out my front door to spend time with friends for over five years. First, it was inconsolable grief, then the Ghost Ship trial, Covid, and now this book.
With a manuscript in hand, new insolation begins. It's time to search out a literary agent and publisher. I've been told this is the scary part, but it isn't. I've experienced the worst that can happen. I've watched a roaring warehouse fire consume my beautiful daughter. What can frighten me now? Loneliness? Nope. I like being alone. Wasting my life? Nope. I feel this writing has given me purpose. Not getting published? Not that either.
I'd like this work to go out into the world. It may help someone deal with their grief, or inspire others to pay attention to each moment or honor their responsibilities. But mostly, writing has been my therapy. Editing and sharing my book about The Fire, The Trial, and The Ongoingness of Grief is my next piece of work.
Writing is the thing I'm going to do in this Crone stage of my life. And maybe, now that I'm retired, I can invite a few friends over to share a gin and tonic or a glass of wine, and we can compare notes. Better yet, let's walk and talk. I'd better break out the Welcome Mat and dig out my old comfortable walking shoes. It's time take this memoir on the road. Grief does not leave me, but I can carry it forward on my journey.
~ c
In the meantime, I've wondered about re-entering real life. Old Friends haven't seen much of me. Between Covid isolation and writing, my social life has evaporated. I've joined a few workshops at Spirit Rock, the zen buddhist retreat in West Marin. I've also joined writing groups in Barcelona, Spain and most recently in Skala Eressos on the island of Lesvos in Greece. Writing with others is satisfying on two fronts, concentrated effort and the companionship of kindred souls. Aside from that, my days begin and end at home in front of the computer. No time for chit chat. Hmmmm... That's actually a pretty superficial take on my hermit-like existence. I haven't ventured out my front door to spend time with friends for over five years. First, it was inconsolable grief, then the Ghost Ship trial, Covid, and now this book.
With a manuscript in hand, new insolation begins. It's time to search out a literary agent and publisher. I've been told this is the scary part, but it isn't. I've experienced the worst that can happen. I've watched a roaring warehouse fire consume my beautiful daughter. What can frighten me now? Loneliness? Nope. I like being alone. Wasting my life? Nope. I feel this writing has given me purpose. Not getting published? Not that either.
I'd like this work to go out into the world. It may help someone deal with their grief, or inspire others to pay attention to each moment or honor their responsibilities. But mostly, writing has been my therapy. Editing and sharing my book about The Fire, The Trial, and The Ongoingness of Grief is my next piece of work.
Writing is the thing I'm going to do in this Crone stage of my life. And maybe, now that I'm retired, I can invite a few friends over to share a gin and tonic or a glass of wine, and we can compare notes. Better yet, let's walk and talk. I'd better break out the Welcome Mat and dig out my old comfortable walking shoes. It's time take this memoir on the road. Grief does not leave me, but I can carry it forward on my journey.
~ c
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