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This is exactly what I'm struggling with with my current WIP. As discussed in Wednesday's ROW80 I chose to return to my 2006 NaNo Novel, The Storyteller's Spouse, as a form of therapy which it was at the time I conceived it as well. Unlike all but one or two short stories better than 50 percent of the scenes in this novel were straight out of my own life and only thinly fictionalized. In many cases only the names were changed.
That had been a very tough year and I used story to help me process some hard things and once again I'm in the midst of a serious upheaval I've been calling a lifequake and some of the same issues are at play so I've gone back to the story which I had abandoned because it was too autobiographical and I have no interest in writing a memoir.
As I read through the old file I keep getting this sense that something is trying to come through, be voiced, faced, expressed, recognized...
Whatever this something is it isn't on the surface or even in the top several layers I've already excavated.
Whatever this something is it is coming up from deep and either its shy or I'm playing hard to get.
Whatever this something is feels like the death of me.
Or maybe a rebirth?