Writing a novel, no matter how bad you want it, can often times be seemingly impossible to finish. I have been working on my “masterpiece” since I was 15, and I feel that I have been stuck for a long while. 17,046 words in, and I feel as though progress is dwindling. Here’s the bottom line- Writing a book is HARD!!! This book is just one of the six I am attempting to write, and let me just say progress is difficult. So many concepts floating in my head, so many stories to tell AAAHHHH!!! Sometimes I feel like I am drowning in my own words and other times I feel like I have no words left in my head. However, in order to remind myself of why I am doing what I am doing here is one of my favorite passages from my baby:
I dream of happiness. I am young again surrounded by warmth in a meadow with trees and flowers all around it. I dance and skip in my happy little spot.
Then it turns cold. The trees turn from green and lush to bare and gray, and the flowers disappear. I spin around trying to see where my warmth went. The wind starts to whip around me. “Mom,” I hear the voice, but cannot see who it belongs to. “Mom,” I hear it again. I whip around to see Becky. But as she comes closer, I see that her face is bloody and broken. She walks with a limp. “Mom,” she says it again. “Mom, you need to run.” I look at her. Her eyes are afraid. “Why?” I ask her. “He’s coming! Mom, He’s coming! You have to run!”
As she says this, her face begins to twist. She lets out a terrifying scream. I close my eyes, and when I open them He is standing there. I turn and begin to run. He does not follow. I look back to see Him with a smile. It is not the twisted smile I have grown to expect. It is the smile I fell in love with. That sweet crooked one He flashed me the first day we met. The one He had on His face when He asked me to marry Him. The one that was always on His face before the alcohol. I turn around and walk back to Him. He still smiles at me. My brain tells my legs to turn around and run, but they don’t listen. My heart is locked on Him.
I stop in front of Him. He raises His hand, and I instinctively flinch, expecting a hit, but He just brushes my cheek. “My Leah,” He says as He caresses my face. “My sweet Leah.” I smile at Him. “Do you love me?” I ask, looking up into His eyes. His hand freezes, and He stares down at me. “Do you love me?” I ask again. He takes my hand and kisses it softly. “I did,” He says quietly. “But not anymore.”
His grip tightens on my hand. His sweet smile morphs into the twisted one I remember so clearly. I try to scream but I can’t. He puts a hand around my throat. I try to fight back, but I am powerless against Him. I can’t breathe. I stare down at Him, my eyes pleading for Him to stop. I am going to die. I have fallen into His trap once again…
The scene describes a dream one of the protagonist has one of the first evenings described in the book. It takes place after she is beaten, once again, by her drunken husband for not responding to his “call” fast enough. Writing her dream scenes has been my favorite thing to write in this book so far.