I sent my manuscript to my agent and editor on October 22. Ta da! Right?
It was what I called “a presentable first draft” of Princess of Hearts (working title), a Young Adult novel about teen-age Elizabeth Tudor, the future Queen Elizabeth I.
I’ve been working on it for six years — six difficult years. During the Pandemic, my husband’s foot injury eventually led to an amputation, then his death by stroke. And then my new reality: widowhood. We’d been together for close to a half-century.
Throughout, this novel has been my “escape,” my solace. And now that I am without it — and will be until the new year — I’ve been at a loss.
It’s not that there isn’t a very great deal I could be doing, yet I’ve been flailing. Not writing anything. Not wanting to write anything.
Until this morning, in the shower, when a possible first sentence of a memoir came to me: “I was born at the end of a war.”
And so, I will begin Confessions of an Airhead (working title, to be sure) until Princess of Hearts comes rocketing back into my life, in need, no doubt, of major repair.
Hello, Sweetheart. I’ve missed you. Let’s see what ails you. How can I help?
Sandra, I didn't know about your husband. I'm so sorry to hear this. And I hope the words flow freely with your new book. I know what it feels like to not have anything in the works. It's our sustenance, and it can be scary.
Dear friend Sandra: it's okay to stop for awhile! But it usually doesn't last because writing is what we do..like marriage vows--in sickness and health, for better or worse, etc, etc! Living with grief and missing someone is its own country and it takes time to get used to those new landscapes. Would love to read your memoir!