Time moves faster than I write

Is it just me or did the abnormally warm winter seem to speed up time?

It was about a year ago that I lost my job as editor of the Kansas City Nursing News and started to work on a memoir about the time I spent in Philadelphia during college. It seems like the past year flew by like blur and I only have nine chapters finished for the book.

The book seemed like a great idea, but without a solid deadline I have struggled to pump out a finished first draft. Instead, I’ve thought a billion other projects that I should start as a means of procrastination. I mean, let’s face it, real writers procrastinate. Right?

My husband does a great job at being my personal cheerleader. “How’s that book coming along?” He asks every few weeks and politely points out that I probably could spend a little more time writing and a little less time reading novels. But reading makes you a better writer. Real writers read. Geesh, I don’t think Logan knows how this business works at all.

But the truth is when it comes to getting a book published neither do I. I don’t know the first thing about getting literary agent. And the process seems too overwhelming for me to think about. All I know is magazines and newspapers. All I know is writing other people’s stories, not my own.

And that brings me to a road block I recently encountered with my book. I met so many people in Philly who’s stories I want to tell. I feel like their stories need to be told, but at the same time something inside me tells me that these aren’t my stories to tell. For the past eight years I’ve written stories about other people’s lives. About injustices, accomplishments, sorrows, and joys. But all these people shared their stories to me as a reporter.

I didn’t come to Philly as a reporter. I came to Philly as a 20-year-old in search of guidance.

Someone once asked me if I could summarize my time in Philly in one word.

Grace.

My response was automatic. Grace. I learned what grace was in Philly. And that’s the story that I need to tell. My story. My journey to grace.

So, I’m back on the writing band wagon and I hope to have a craptastic first draft done by the end of the summer. That’s my deadline. Hold me to it.