As they say, “The only constant is change,” and this summer has been evidence of that. In fact, as you may or may not realize, the last days of July signified my last days as assistant editor here at Mile High Mamas!

(Stock photo by typofi)

I’ve loved my time at Mile High Mamas, and I’ll contribute writing pieces every now and then, but it’s time to shift gears. After taking some time in August to travel to New York and San Francisco and as we continue planning our trip to Hawaii in October (What? A girl has her priorities…), it’s time to follow my passion; harness this energy and see where it takes me.

It’s time to start the next chapter.

Literally!

Yes, I’m writing a book!

So, how does one do this? As a writer, I’ve done a lot of writing via pixels and keyboard keys, and I’ve kicked it old-school by putting a real pen to physical paper. I’ve written essays and papers and blog posts, but never a book. Writing has always come easy for me. But writing a book? How exactly do you do that? Well, I’ve learned a lot about this process over the last few months!

One of the most interesting things I’ve learned is that books and their authors go down different paths, depending on the type of book. Fiction books require a fully completed manuscript before the next phase of their adventure truly begins. Nonfiction books jump into the fray with a completed book proposal.

How do you decide which direction to go? For me, the decision was made for me: I have fiction story ideas bouncing around in my head, but I have a nonfiction piece that has been begging to be written for years.

Needless to say, I’ll be polishing my book proposal.

What goes into a book proposal? The perfectionist in me loves the fact that there is a specific formula to writing a book proposal. You tie together a package including an overview of the book, an outline of the book, an author’s résumé, sample chapters of the book, marketing information, and a competitive title analysis. The casual part of me loves the fact that you write this all in your own voice.

You work the book proposal to perfection, query agents and publishers in hopes of finding someone who is just as excited about your book as you are, and once the interest is there, you focus on writing the actual book part of your book.  Your proposal will either be accepted, or it won’t, and you won’t know until you try.  Gee, no pressure!

It’s a time-consuming process, and it’s challenging with all these moving pieces, but I’m really excited to get this project going!

Truth be told, I was writing a completely different nonfiction book than the one on my desktop now. Well, it wasn’t completely different, but I soon realized that one of the chapters started to take on a whole life of its own and demanded the spotlight. After much soul-searching, I decided to shift gears and follow along.

It takes less energy to adjust the sail and steer than it does to dig your heels in and push against a force you can’t even see, and I was excited to see where this would take me.

Even in the midst of all this excitement, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to focus on this part of my life again. Without sharing too much or being too cryptic, it was a challenging time in my life. There were good times, and I cherished them, but there were things I’d just as soon forget, and I had, for the most part. What’s done was done. I’d escaped. I’d mended as many bridges as I could, and I’d purposely lit others on fire. I’d hid from the monsters for so long that they’d forgotten I existed. I’d come to peace with the past, learned my lessons and put them to good use in building a better future. Forgive and forget? I’d learned to forgive others…and myself…and I’d not forgotten just enough to never let history repeat itself.

But what about others just like me? What about those women who do exactly what I did, all with the same great intentions? What about the women just like me who had unwittingly become victims of something they didn’t even know existed? Could my words, told in my voice, save them the heart-ache I’d suffered? And, if I couldn’t stop them, when it all came crashing down on them, would my words be a source of comfort to them? I had survived, and they could too. Had someone come to me with a cautionary tale, would I have listened? Maybe. Maybe not. But I had to try.

As soon as I saw myself type the words onto the page, I knew I had to let it out. I had to tell my story.

As soon as I started writing, all of the pain flooded back. I gasped out loud, and tears stung my eyes. I tried to ignore it, but I couldn’t bring myself to delete the text. The proverbial bell had rung.

I talked to my husband about it. He’d always been my support. He’d lived through this once. Could he do it again? I knew I couldn’t do it without him.

“Do I do this?” I asked him, pleading, needing reassurance, needing him to tell me what I already knew. “Do I open all these wounds?”

“I thought you were going to write about this six years ago,” he said with a glint in his eye.

“So, you’re okay with me reliving this, if it means I’ll find closure and maybe help others in the process?” I asked the question more to myself than to him.

“I think you need to,” he said.

So, I am.

What about you? Have you ever written a book? Have you ever wanted to?

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