Juggling all the superficial shit to avoid my manuscript because somewhere between Breaking Point and Aphrodite’s Twin, I lost my drive to write, finish, and publish my work. I’d done it, in relatively rapid succession for seven years straight. I was chasing a high of success that remained out of my reach. I grew disillusioned.
Soul work produced this realization: I was chasing a type of success that wasn’t true to me, true to my soul. I believe, my Divinity figured if I was hell bent on chasing a lie, She would take away the fuel for my drive to write and publish novels.
My Muse was still quite active though, my characters’ voices still whispered in my ears. I still put words to page. Then…
Slowly, practicing what I teach; purposefully seeking my Divinity’s voice, I remembered. I remembered why the words flow in my veins to begin with. The words were given to me so I would TELL the story. Period. If there will be fame, fortune to be made, I will make it but my PURPOSE (yes, in capitals) is to Tell. The. Story.
Breath. Deep Breath.
So, no more hustle for readers, no more disappointment if someone buys my book but doesn’t leave a review. No more worry that no one bought a book today, this week, month / year.
Instead – did I tell the story in the best way I know how? Did I produce a beautiful book (newsletter, blog post)? Did I honor my Muse, my Divinity, my Characters, and my PURPOSE?
If I can say ‘yes’ to all of those questions, then I have succeeded. I can FEEL accomplished, authentic, on purpose, and in service (Core Desired Feelings y’all, come get some HERE).
Sending Love and Light and sharing a bit of a story I’m working on for Camp NaNo. Enjoy!
Craig cleared his throat, “I’m sorry, did you say, over two hundred years?”
“Yes. At least that’s what my math tells me. I’m fuzzy with time as you can imagine.”
“You don’t look a day over thirty at the oldest.”
“I know. That’s why I was hung that first time. Superstition combined with the bad luck that had fallen on the family and the rumors in town about me, well, they figured I was a demon. Evil incarnate. Fortunately, I suppose, they thought to hang me instead of burn me at the stake. Hanging is bad but I can’t imagine what being burned alive must feel like.”
“You feel pain?”
“Are you freakin’ serious? Of course I feel pain. What kind of dumb ass question is that?”
“Do you have any special abilities?”
“Special like what?”
“Psychic abilities. Super strength. That kind of thing.”
“Uh, no. I might be more spiritually in tune than the average bear but beyond that, just plain human.”
“Not quite. Plain humans don’t live through hangings. Plain humans age and die. You seem to have been blessed to not have to deal with any of that.”
“I age. I mean, if I didn’t I’d never have been born. I guess I just don’t age like normal.”
“That is an understatement. So, how have you been able to move through all of those years and not garner more attention?”
“It’s gotten harder for sure. Back in the day though it was just a matter of living off the land and keeping a very low profile. I was protected by the [tribal name] for [number] generations. Annie was the first one to think I may need extra protection. I’m sure she’d seen one too many sci-fi movies as a kid. Anyway, she worked to set up the first country wide network of safe houses. First through her ham radio connections then, once the internet blew up, she branched out and helped establish a secondary communication network. She shared bits and pieces of my story, found folks who were able to believe I existed and who would provide me with shelter if I needed it.”
“So you’ve got a world wide following that what? Worship you as some sort of Goddess?”
“HA! Uh, no. I don’t have people worshiping me or offering up their first born to garner favor. What I’m saying is there are people on this planet who are all open to letting me crash on their sofas if I find myself running for my life from the clutches of evil government agents who want nothing more than to dissect me in the name of national security. Hint. Hint.”
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