A Book or Not A Book?

Write he says. Tell your story. I keep telling him no one would believe me. Everybody seems to be writing books these days, telling their story, sharing the memoirs.  Powerful, moving stories that help people deal with separation, grief, eating disorders, or traumatic childhoods. Would my story be worth telling or would it just get lost in the sea of memoirs and life stories published every day?

I keep telling myself that as tough as same of the odds I have faced, there are people that have overcome even more appalling odds. I have the first few pages of a book tucked away in my computer, but every time I open that file and stare at the screen, I can’t figure out where to start the story. What point to make? What do I want to share and why?

The best moments in my life? The easy answers would be the birth of my children or my wedding day, but in truth they’re more likely to be the kind of days that suddenly make memories. Laughing in the rain with my kids, dancing and just being in the moment on a night out in my 20’s, rocking quietly with my baby and watching her breathe and just being grateful and quiet in the middle of the night.

The worst moments? The easy answers there would be the day my father walked away, or holding my tiny baby girl and saying goodbye to a life that never even got a chance. Those were crushing, along with every heartbreak and instant that just took my breath away, every time I said good-bye to someone I loved. I have cried as hard as I have laughed and I have definitely lived.


So, do I sit down and write the book? What’s the point? What story would I tell and how would mine make a difference?

Have you any idea why a raven is like a writing desk?

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