On Saturday afternoon, I clicked on my Google Documents and began writing. While my teen student for the day sat beside me, fiddling on Facebook, I tapped away at the keys, my mind a flurry of activity. Colorful details filled the screen. The memory of the day I went to a psychic to discover Elijah’s ultimate motives flashed before my eyes. And as my teen student clicked on her “boyfriend’s” profile and discovered he was actually in a relationship with Nicki, I zoned in on the story of my past love that now lay in front of me.
This story is the next story for my book, Love Trips. It had been a long time since I sat down to write for the book. I felt stuck, unsure of where to take the story, though it is chronological. The chronology is what makes writing it so difficult. I’m writing about my life, reliving painful and embarrassing experiences that I wish to forget. The last story I wrote for the book entitled “Whooping Ass” drained me. The ending was powerful but the fact that the story that follows shows my continuous naïveté and lack of self-love and self-worth at the time frustrates me.
As I’ve said before, I am no longer that girl. I am a woman who knows her worth and is loved and who now knows she deserves that love. I also know that I will regret not finishing the book. I know that my mind will be a flurry of “what it’s” and “should of, would of, could of’s” if I do not continue writing my story. No deadline this time. I’ve already abandoned two of the deadlines I previously set. I am going to write Love Trips when my heart and my mind align. That way it isn’t forced. That way my fingers will find the keys and my heart will find a rhythm, naturally.