Days Like Today

I want to remember today when this book finally sits on a shelf.

I want to remember the day I spent wrestling with plot points, trying to solve the puzzle of so many characters with so many secrets.

I want to remember the day the writing wasn’t easy.

I want to remember the day that figuring it all out seemed daunting, and the imposter syndrome took on a monstrous persona and threatened to do me in.

I want to remember the day I didn’t actually want to write. Napping sounded better. Reading sounded better. Doing literally anything else sounded better.

I want to remember the day my brain was too foggy to concentrate, and I sat with one single piece of the novel for far too long, obsessing over the details—the same way I used to do on my off days as a director.

I want to remember the day that I’ve heard so many writers talk about, where the writing wasn’t fun and easy. In fact, it sucked.

I want to remember the day that I had to dig deep to find the belief in this story. To tell that, “who's going to care about this?” voice to shut the hell up.

I want to remember that I showed up anyway. Believed in myself and in my work. Fought through the fog and created something important.

I want to remember this day and all the others just like it, because showing up anyway was how this beautiful thing came to exist.

And I hope on that day, my book will act just like a Ghost Light, inspiring me to come back here to days like this, and start again.