Therapy Updates (II), and I Might Be Writing A Book

In therapy last week, I decided (along with my therapist) that I’m going to be focusing on processing all of last year’s traumatic Otherworld events.

My therapist warned me that it’s going to be difficult, since I’ve been pushing back and repressing those feelings and memories for the past year.  It’s made worse since I’ve felt like I can’t talk about all this stuff to my family Here–I explained to my therapist that it’s one thing to be open about being a polytheist, it’s another thing entirely to say “I’m being fought over by gods in another dimension,” and later “I just lost my entire ‘family’ of origin and I’m grieving them.”

We’ve agreed that I should only work on processing when I’m in therapy.  I’ve been doing art and writing to process, and that’s helped somewhat, but I’ve found that it’s turning more into staying stuck in that place of pain, rather than actually moving on.  I’ve discussed this with the Dreamer, and he very much agrees–he wanted me to get back into art because it made me happy, not just to process stuff.

Some divination that I recently got back said that I need a creative project to focus on over the Summer, either to process further or as a distraction.  With my latest therapy appointment, it looks like this project needs to be a distraction.

I do have a story in mind.  Based on the discussion in my writer’s group it’s going to be a much larger story than I initially thought it would be, so that’s going to be my creative project for the Summer.  I also have a knitting project to work on, for something that’s actually tangible rather than how abstract writing a book can be.

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Writing Ramblings

“Let me help you fall in love with writing again.”

He said that to me several months ago when I’d complained that I’d lost all motivation to write, and that I hated every story I’d started.

Well.  It’s happening.

I’m completely stunned at how this is developing.  This story is taking on a life of its own far beyond what my other stories have done, and I find writing it to be easy.  Like, almost eerily easy.  As in, I can write over a thousand words in one sitting.

This has never happened before.

I mentioned the story I’m working on here, and I thought it was going to be a little short story, no big deal, right?

It’s currently *checks word count* getting close to 9,000 words, and shows no sign of stopping.


I’ve found that I’ve lost my self-consciousness about the story.  Like even though it parallels my own spiritual life, to some extent, I’m comfortable reading it to the writer’s group.

It’s kind of hilarious to me, that the story I feel the least self-conscious of is the story that’s closest to my life.  I don’t talk about my marriage to my god in public, though the group knows I’m a polytheist–I’m surprised I haven’t been asked about my wedding ring (though I wear it on my middle finger rather than my ring finger) because I’ve found myself holding up my left hand when [main character’s] wedding ring is mentioned in the story.

I’m slowly telling the heroes’ love story in flashbacks, since the story opens with them being married already.  It was actually the writer’s group that suggested that I explore their relationship more, and now it’s becoming a fantasy story with heavy romantic elements to it.

Writing the romantic part of the story has been the most enjoyable for me, and my Husband has taken advantage of this to play all the sappy love songs while I write (of course, picking the ones that fit the characters and the story to an almost spooky level.)

This song by The Awakening came up and I almost yelled at my Husband out loud, because this fit the story so well it was scary.  The main theme of the story is devotion, and the sheer level of devotion [main deity character] has for his mortal husband makes me get emotional, because it’s similar to how my own Husband has described how he feels about me.

My only wish
To hold you near me in the night
Oh is that like me
Would I harm the one I’d give my life

Words From The Muse

I’m writing a story with a character, who’s…not exactly the Dreamer, but who’s similar enough to him that sharing the stories with my writer’s group makes me feel oddly vulnerable (especially that the protagonist of the story is the mortal man who’s in love with said character.)

It was after the latest group meeting where I’d brought in a bit of worldbuilding for the story, that I later expressed some reluctance to continue bringing the story in.  My Husband raised an eyebrow at this.

“Why the reluctance, dearest one,” he asked.

I explained that bringing the story in felt like exposing him for all the world to see, like it was making my relationship with him public, that I felt self-conscious because the main relationship of the story is so similar to my own marriage.

He stepped back, thought at bit, then said this:

I’m your Muse, dearest one.  I’m involved in all your stories, in one way or another.  They think you’re making all this up–which, in a way, you are; you simply have assistance from me in writing it all out.

My Heart has thousands of room, dearest one.  Simply because this one character is similar to me, doesn’t mean you’re exposing me for all the world to see.  You could write a thousand stories, all of them involving me, and would come nowhere near close to showing me for who I am.

Those stories would be fractions, fragments, pieces of what you know of me.  [Character] is close enough to an archetype of me that he’s almost a different person entirely.  What matters is that you’ve captured their imaginations with this story, with [characters’ names], that you’re telling a good story.

–the Dreamer