Nothing
And her mind was without form. And void. And darkness was upon the face of the deep recesses. The synapses wouldn’t fire quite right, failed to give her a scene or two.
Her mind was still.
For a while.
Maybe a few hours.
Or a smattering of days.
It’s hard to give a baby away, to know that from this point forward, it will never be hers. Only hers. Never again.
Others will smith it. Argue over it. Dissect it. Require a little more of this and a little less of that. Wrangle it into A Thing. She thinks she doesn’t have any more tears to shed for her baby, but she will find out she’s just begun to weep.
So.
She turns her far away eyes to the next thing. Getting through days of missing her baby, of wondering how it fares. Weeks of not knowing. Not hearing. Perhaps a month full of dreams of what happens next, beyond the boundary of words that exist, where they circle in a prison of chaos, longing to be set free.
You should read Kate’s post. It’s clear that even Charlotte Bronte had the same angst ridden moments as yourself:
I am no Charlotte, but I do understand her feelings.
It is hard, but the baby will be fine. This is what it was made for. It’s entire reason for being. And no matter what happens, it will still be hers and will carry her name and her labors forward.
It is time.
That which all who read here believe, Carnell. Well put.
I hope you are right.
On this round, it will be. My editor is the best. The true end of the creative process is what makes me sad. I love the birth part.
And that’s what I would have said, though far less eloquently.
Hang in there. Try not to think about it, because you can drive yourself crazy wondering what the publisher people and editor people are doing. It will drive you completely nuts.
My editor will talk through it with me before she starts, and I will have a pretty good sense of what she’s doing.
Giant waves of encouragement are being sent in your direction. I know that you’ve put so much work into this wonderful piece. I look forward to the day I can hold it in my hand and read it…and get your autograph!
You already have my autograph on multiple thank you notes and cards. Thank you for being my friend. I’m glad to hear you’re on the mend. Wishing the same now for Bill.
You are “Currer Bell”.
What are you doing today in San Diego?
Walked around a lot yesterday and today getting registered and then the training starts tomorrow, back on Saturday.
Look forward to your photos.
Carnell said it beautifully. Sending positive thoughts and strength your way.
Thank you, Dear.
Have taken a few, TK taking some with her camera and will load next week. Fun lunch with 1500 of my closet friends.
Actually with Anne and one of the Directors from Sweden, Ann-Britt Asebol. Usual chit chat…
Oh, the people you know.
It is your time! All the best. Looking forward to reading it and saying I know the author!
It’s a while yet. Pre-editor stage right now.
I just found this a few minutes ago on another blogger’s site, and immediately thought of you:
“I heard a preacher say recently that hope is a revolutionary patience; let me add that so is being a writer. Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: you don’t give up.” ~ Anne Lamott
Now, I want to read her work, too. (It goes without saying that I am also waiting to tell everyone I know that I knew YOU long before….)
I will never, ever be Anne Lamott. Her shorter pieces are more powerful than her novels, but she can string together some gorgeous prose.
I just discovered your blog and know you are a talented writer. Best of luck in your venture, which always takes more time than you thought it would. At my “Women Who Write” conference this fall published author told us all how long her novel took from the first edition to publication, with the editors notes and her rewrites going back and forth.
BUT I am worried about your back. My physical therapist told me that writing in bed is terrible for your back. Please take good care; back problems really can change your quality of life.
I wear a brace now. Preventive.
I do so love this. Not that you’re feeling it, but that you can express it so eloquently.
It’s all part of the process.
A little late in responding here, Andra, but, still with good wishes and with a good deal of admiration for you and this long process. Hang on!
Still a ways to go, but I will hang on, Penny. Thank you for the encouragement.
Carried forward with a prayer…mine, for you and your baby. oxo
Still a ways to go, Debra, but prayers along the way will build toward a better end.
Thank you.
I’ll be sending all my best thoughts out into the universe with it!
Thank you, Annabelle.