I’m halfway through the grind. Cult Child took its toll. Seven years of digging through caves, days of uncontrollable crying, illness and so much more came like waves. All of them were unexpected.
As I now write the sequel, I am still digging. There’s even more to sift through as I continue to tell my story through Sila Caprin’s character.
In December I came to a place where I had to write a body shaming memory. I was sixty pages in, and I’ve been avoiding it since. I finally spit it out today; then painted those ghosts away on a canvas. I feel self congratulatory. I got that one out.
This time around I have no timelines or deadlines set for myself. There’s just me, time, being, accepting and writing as the strength comes. As I survey what I am writing now, Cult Child feels like the vertebrae upon which I have built this outlet. There is so much, so much more to tell.
Sila will stand alone in this second book, as sequels must do, and I am remembering teenage experiences with raw reality, accepting that whatever comes up is coming up.
A physical bi-product of this particular emotional memory purge this week has been extreme nausea and headache as well. Sunday I cried all day. Yesterday I headed to the forest to find my strength again. Today I made it through writing the memory that has had me frozen for so many days.
Now I feel ready for the next writing section. Sometimes I can pre-determine which sections of writing might bring emotional setbacks or shutdown. Other times they hit like an unpredicted earthquake.
Either way, I always come out okay.