Well, here goes...

I have a confession:

I have not been so sick, worried or consumed over something since I was pregnant with Ada. What has caused this? Well, after five years of thinking and planning, I've started writing my novel.

Let me take you back. I wish I could say the first months of marriage were sheer bliss but that would be a lie. It wasn't anything to do with my husband. That part of my life was bliss. It was other, darker things, going on behind the scenes that had left me in a very deep depression. I have not spoken of this time publicly before but to be honest, I would drop Travis off (we only had one car) at his job at Toyota before 6 AM and spend the entire day in our tiny apartment, crying. It was a very dark period in my life. I ended up leaving school (I was a senior in college) for a semester and as silly as it sounds, getting a job at Starbucks really pulled me out of that place. I have described this phase of my life to my mom before as that scene in Forest Gump when Lt. Dan rides out the hurricane, challenging God, on the Jenny. My problem was not that I didn't believe in God; I had gone through too much and KNEW that God was present in my life. The fact that God wasn't fixing things I needed Him to fix made me furious. Really important things, things I thought He should worry about too. Basically, I decided to ignore God if He was going to ignore me.

I remember one day being at a particularly low place. I had tried to pray but nothing came out and I just sat in the floor, crying. All of a sudden the words Mother Muse started running through my head. I literally said, out loud, "What the Hell is a Mother Muse?" I didn't know for sure until I sat on the beach, five years later, staring out into the ocean. It's this story. This story that has played in my mind like tattered memories of another life. This story that makes me stop at red lights to call my husband's phone and leave a voicemail with entire passages that just flood my heart and mind as suddenly as rushing water.

Why am I sick? Because I have fallen so in love with these characters, I feel overwhelmed by the task of setting them free on paper. What if you don't love them like I love them? What if I don't do them justice? What if I can't do this? What if no one wants to publish this book? The truth is, I sort of feel like a sham. I'm not writing this novel. This novel is just flowing through me. It's as if it is being dictated to me.

I'm sick because how on Earth will I finish this when I spend most of my day blowing raspberries, watching "Yo Gabba Gabba" and singing "Itsy Bitsy Spider" over and over again to Ada's delight? What about the laundry? The dishes? Dinner? When am I ever by myself long enough to actually write a book?

This morning, I put Ada down in her crib for a nap. She's been crying ever since. I feel like my heart and head are going split open and spill all over the floor. I hate letting her cry but I know we both need the rest. I opened my Bible and found these words, these words I so desperately needed to read today:

"I will cry to God Most High who performs on my behalf and rewards me- who brings to pass His purposes for me and surely completes them." Psalm 57:2

How am I going to do this? I guess I'll just give Him my hands. It's always been His story, anyway.