I went to writers’ group last night. I knew it would be a hard night, and although I didn’t feel it during our meeting, it hit me pretty hard afterward. I’m still reeling a little this morning.
The scene that I brought to read and get critiqued at writers’ group, I’d printed out the week before Christmas. I’d emailed the scene to my mom right after finishing it, and we’d talked about it on the phone. She had a few comments, and I said I’d see what my writers’ group thought. I made copies of the scene and was all ready to go to writers’ group on Dec 20, when I got the call about my mom’s stroke.
I didn’t go to that meeting, but I took those same copies last night. It’s the last scene my mom got to read. Anything I write from here on out, she won’t get to read.
After writing a scene, I always emailed it to my mom to get feedback from her. She’d email me with comments within a day or two. Often she’d telephone. She loved the story I’m working on now. She was my first and best reader.
I am hoping to write a new scene today. It is the day I don’t go into work. It is my writing day.
My writing is so entwined with my mother, I’m finding moving on with my story incredibly difficult.
I don’t want to stop writing. I want to produce something new today. I’ve been doing a lot of editing and re-organizing of the story, but I need to write a new scene now. I need to see how that will feel—to move into new territory in the story.
I’ll let you know how it goes.