Once Upon a Time

Six years ago, when I first started writing my debut novel, I never could have predicted how this journey would unfold. Once upon a time started during a quiet night in the kitchen under a dull lamp light, typing out a storyline to a character that my mind would not allow me to extinguish. She needed to be set free. So, I gave her a name, and I etched out the beginning of her story, not realizing that was the beginning of mine. Fast forward to today, and here I sit, at a much different kitchen table, writing by the light of a dimly lit lamp. How ironic?

This story has weaved, dipped, shot up, and spiraled into a journey I never could have imagined. That is life, though, isn't it? A journey into the unknown. Just like the arcs of character development we take our protagonist through, our own personal tropes lay out the stones of our path. Page by page and step by step, the story unfolds in schematic succession.

The barricades placed before me created moments of pause from the scribal duties bestowed upon me. The Empire crumbled, and I was forced to flee. However, I could not run far enough from the battles that sought my full attention. Faced with having to pick up my sword and shield and set down the quill, the manuscript became an incomplete paperweight that collected dust.

Months, even years, dragged by as the war waged around me. In the moments of solace, I found myself back at my writing desk. I transcribed experiences into enchanted tales. Potions of emotions poured out eloquently into alchemized scenes of fantasy. Each obstacle was recorded and transformed into inspiration to build characters and worlds. My pain became my ink as it flowed from within my depths onto scrolls of literature.

By day, I was the hero of my very own story. I faced my nemesis head-on, and I articulated schemes to keep them at bay. I swung my sword with all my might. By night, I was the storyteller, narrating chaos into folklore. In my world, I got to play every role.

My story unfolded into a complex tapestry of societal occurrences and personal events: firmly held beliefs and deeply embedded emotions. I escaped reality through a portal of mirrors that reflected every part of who I was and how I was feeling—characters who were built from metaphors and artifacts that were designed by symbolic keys. Easter eggs of history, written in every sentence.

This year was the year I finally finished my first draft. An entire library of archives smashed into 120,000 words and hundreds of pages. My best work yet. But this is just the beginning of this tale. As the months continue to roll on, the library’s architecture will continue to be refined and redesigned. Although the words have been crafted from the bricks of my own demolished queendom, I am hopeful that they resonate.

I hope that my story becomes the next woman's compass. I hope she stumbles across the maps of navigation right when she needs them. I hope my scriptures blaze into a flame of guiding light to any young woman who feels as if she may have lost her way. I offer these women my sword and shield, so that they are equipped to take on their own battles. I hope a woman runs her fingers along the spines of publications in my library and she finds the words that will inspire her next move.

This introduction is the first part of the plot that gave rise to the manuscript. Letter by letter, she became a beautifully scripted work of art. So, the story continues where she is formed into perfection. Slowly, she matures into a manual of perseverance and determination. The how-tos of crawling out of the rubble and facing the storm. In the next part, we focus on the building - the construction of the structure. The base is steady and stable. I map out the blueprints to the walls that will hold my little world together. I pause for a breath to take in how far I have traveled and what my manuscript has become. Just for a moment, before I prepare for the next chapter.