I’ve not blogged in a while because I’ve been editing my novel. I sent it to my editor on Friday, word-blind, exhausted and more than a little nervous. It’s as good as I can make it on my own – now I need a professional to steer me in the right direction.
Handing over my manuscript was a major milestone in my writing journey. For years the book sat loved but neglected in a metaphorical desk drawer. I’d dust it off and add a few chapters when I had time off work, then put away again to focus on ‘real-life’.
If the last couple of years have taught me anything it’s that life waits for nobody. You either dare to dream and make it happen or you stay dreaming. Easy to say, not so easy to do – especially when you’re the worrying type.
That’s why Friday was such a big deal. I had taken a huge step towards my goal and after hitting the send button, I had a moment of complete elation. When you look up the definition it says, ‘exultantly proud and joyful’ and that was me! I grinned like an absolute idiot and then promptly burst into tears.
That’s the thing about grief. It taints every good thing with absence.
I sat at my desk and had my cry. Then I played in my head everything I know my mum would have said to me. I felt her words wrapping themselves around me, her love, her pride, her elation for me. I let her words dissolve into me, swim through my veins, swell my heart. Then I dried my eyes, went downstairs to tell my husband and we danced around the kitchen until the dogs told us off.