I have 3500 images in my camera file on my phone, which is every bit as chaotic as it sounds! Every once in a while I'll go through and sort a few hundred images into different files, to make it easier when I'm wanting to look through them.
When swiping through them today, I found a photo I took of my scruffy handwriting in a notebook I dedicated to extra scribblings for my book, and on one of the pages i had scribbled:
"An escape wrapped in love and music - whether it's Aimee's strength, Adam's fame, Leon's loyalty, or Finn's confidence, there's something for everyone to escape in."
When I was faced with the mamoth task of trying to figure out how to explain my book in as little words as possible, to then send to publishers and agents, I took to my notebook to write down my key points and anything I felt might be helpful, and this was one of them things.
The truth is, it's been a long time since I've thought about my book, I've been so busy in the real world I seem to have pushed aside the fantasy world I lived in for so long.
In November 2021 I left a long term relationship and moved back home with my Mam and since then my book, and writing in general, has taken a back seat. I've been busy adjusting to life at home, trying to sell the house I lived in, I started a new job with lots or learning and training involved, and on top of that I've been learning how to be in a healthy, happy relationship with my new boyfriend; writing has been the last thing on my mind.
Seeing a photo of that scribble in my book makes me miss my story and characters and it gives me such a bittersweet feeling - I don't need to escape anymore because I love every area of my life, but I miss escaping and living in another world.
Looking back, I was probably (definitely) borderline (way beyond the line) obsessive with my writing when my mental health was at its worst. I would fill every spare second I had with writing; and anytime I wasn't writing, I'd be thinking about it, or be listening to music to add to my playlists that run alongside the stories.
Writing was my life, and although I see now how maybe that was probably a tad unhealthy, I do miss it.
If I'm completely honest, I think maybe a bit of trauma clings to my story as it was my home when I was at my worst, and going back there brings me a side of sadness - but I am so immensely proud of what I created, it feels so wrong just leaving it to gather dust in my mind.
My boyfriend often tells me to mentally rewrite things that take me to the past - visiting places and doing things that have bad feelings attached to them to then attach new, better feelings to them, and maybe that's what I need to do with my writing?
I don't need to escape anymore, but just because it's not a necessity, doesn't mean I can't do it anymore, or that I should leave it aside.
It might soon be the right time to open that door again and leave it open, even if I don't step inside just yet. Time to enter that world and take a happy visit, instead of entering, locking the door and living in there.
Maybe it's time.
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