Pieces of Me

I sit down at my desk and make sure that all of my work is either done or at a safe stopping point before opening up the document entitled Chapter 11 – Brenna. It’s blank right now, only the title gives it life. I empty my mind and begin to type. As I type through the opening, I stop to check the previous chapters and read through them again. If the story doesn’t flow or the names get mixed up, I won’t be happy with myself.

The phone rings and I answer it, pulling myself away from the world of the story and back into the reality of the office. After the appointment is set, I do the necessary paperwork and put the appointment on the calendar. Then I take the paperwork to the warehouse, still thinking about what I was pulled away from.

When I get back to the desk and start to type, sadness oozes out. Matt is leaving her to be a soldier and her heart is breaking. As I write, I feel tears start to escape from under my glasses and glance around furtively before getting a tissue and wiping my eyes. My characters aren’t real, but they feel real to me, pieces of me splashed throughout the documents and stories that I write. There are pieces that I might want to be, pieces that I remember being, and pieces that I regret. I don’t write to get rich or to get published. I write because after holding all of these broken pieces inside of me for so long, I finally have to let them escape and be real.