Writing has always been a kind of therapy for me. The stories and characters keep me company when life is too much to withstand; they keep me sane when I've had enough. I've finally decided to share the people and places that keep me going. Maybe they'll keep you going too.
I live with chronic illness. It was managed well enough, for the most part, until I had a stretch where it was wildly out of control. Relegated to my bed and left in excruciating pain for weeks—months really—I was left in darkness, in tears. No light, no sound. No books or television to distract me. They would have added to my intense discomfort. I had only my mind to keep me busy during the hours, the days, the weeks.
I invented characters. People. Places. Events. I ran them through over and over in my mind. What if? Maybe?
It became something.
When I finally recovered, I wrote it down. I shared it; tentatively at first.
It was good. No, it was worth publishing. The characters hadn't just gotten me through a dark time; other people also fell in love with them. Friends wanted to know what happened next. Family got attached to side characters and secondary plot lines; the quirks and little bits I'd hidden beneath the surface, things intended just for me.
People actually wanted to read my story.
Book 1 is complete and being queried. I'm currently preparing Book 2 to send to my editor. Books 3 & 4 are fully outlined and resolved. The series arc is formed and complete. All because of chronic illness and pain. Beauty from darkness.
What magic will jump out from around the next dark corner?
- T.C.
I live with chronic illness. It was managed well enough, for the most part, until I had a stretch where it was wildly out of control. Relegated to my bed and left in excruciating pain for weeks—months really—I was left in darkness, in tears. No light, no sound. No books or television to distract me. They would have added to my intense discomfort. I had only my mind to keep me busy during the hours, the days, the weeks.
I invented characters. People. Places. Events. I ran them through over and over in my mind. What if? Maybe?
It became something.
When I finally recovered, I wrote it down. I shared it; tentatively at first.
It was good. No, it was worth publishing. The characters hadn't just gotten me through a dark time; other people also fell in love with them. Friends wanted to know what happened next. Family got attached to side characters and secondary plot lines; the quirks and little bits I'd hidden beneath the surface, things intended just for me.
People actually wanted to read my story.
Book 1 is complete and being queried. I'm currently preparing Book 2 to send to my editor. Books 3 & 4 are fully outlined and resolved. The series arc is formed and complete. All because of chronic illness and pain. Beauty from darkness.
What magic will jump out from around the next dark corner?
- T.C.
