My friend, Marcia, has been telling me for years that I should write a blog. She said I should recount all of our experiences with our small farms, the many cats that came into our lives, the adventures with horses, the children we adopted, the struggles that we faced. I have stories that will make you laugh and make you cry and too many that would curl your hair. Unless you have curly hair, in which case it would uncurl.
She kept telling me to do this when we adopted two special needs kids because there was never a dull moment. There goes Meg, running with her hair on fire. And I’m still running. The triumphs. The trials. The trauma. We came to understand more about RAD, FASD, ODD, mood disorders and Autism than we ever imagined. Marcia said I should share about that. I might encourage others. I spent a lot of time in support groups when the kids were small and I did talk to a lot of people. But, I didn’t want to blog about it. I said someday I will write a book… but not until I know the ending of the story.
Those years tumbled by and now I know what it is like to parent a child with mental illness (and have seen my family suffer because of the the shameful lack of options and support from insurance companies and the state agency through which we adopted). As if this wasn’t enough, I learned what it meant to be the wife of a chronically ill husband as I’ve watched Paul suffer with PKD for 11 years and still not have a kidney transplant.
Write a blog.
Now, I have a new chapter in my life as I try to support an aging parent struggling with memory loss. It is a wonder I am even still standing.
Marcia said “you should write about it. You could inspire people with everything you’ve been through. You’re a survivor.” But I don’t want to write about that stuff. I don’t want to relive the terror of the real events. I don’t want to be reminded of losses that still seize my heart. I want to write fiction. I’ve always written fiction. Fiction, i can control the outcome–no matter how difficult the characters become. Even when the story deals with pain and sorrow, it remains a story. It isn’t real. Maybe that’s where all the energy went that could have gone into a blog about what has, I’ll admit, been a life full of difficult experiences–and the determination to keep going. A life filled with grace without which I would not still be standing. I siphoned it off into my fiction–and it has made me a better writer. More insightful. More mature. I can take the humor and the heartache and make something beautiful with it. Something that will last longer than any blog. I can infuse characters with real life elements that will make them live much longer than I do.
Write a blog.
Okay. I’ll try. I really will. I am trying to get this one off the ground so that when people land here in search of Meg Mac Donald, the author or the books that I am revising and the one that I am promoting on Kindle Scout, that they’ll find something worthwhile to read. Not just me talking about all the same things you see on every other writer’s blog. But you’ll have to bear with me. I’m still not precisely sure what to say. Or when to stop.
Write a blog.