the humble offering

As the first week of my writer's lock in comes to a close, I am so much closer to finishing my humble offering. I can honestly say that it has been a roller coaster. 

I have been working on 'my new book' ever since I woke up deaf 18 months ago. At first, it was written as part of my own healing practice but a series of epiphanies have led me to understand that in sharing my story, I can help others.

To that end, 'my book' has grown into two books, a CD and a Video Course, all now drafted or half written. So, I made a commitment and set an intention to 'finishing' and have locked myself up for two weeks to focus fully on writing, filming and recording.

This week I have finished the draft of the new website, and finished both books, all the graphic design, the covers, everything. 

Tomorrow, I begin rehearsing for the CD. I have been experimenting with instruments that are friendly towards my hearing conditions in keys that I can tolerate and I will trust that the rest will follow. I am recording all the songs and mantra that have flowed through me during my healing practice, so that others might heal with them too.

It sounds like a lot of work, and truly , it is, but it is my calling from my soul to craft this humble offering ...

Meanwhile, I will leave you with a track from my 'apples in the rain' CD ...  

Letting your work go

Oh my giddy aunts, I have just emailed my new book off to the editor. It's a very strange feeling letting my work go. Perhaps because this book is an anthology of all the private stories and poems that have lifted and carried me through, written since my hearing loss,  I feel oddly nervous yet excited; exposed, vulnerable and yet a little proud that I actually managed to send it off. Time now to sit back, kick off my slippers and celebrate with a bar of chocolate ... 

Should she tend to the frightened child?

'Hissing and seething, the past hauled itself up from the basement and stood before her. Now facing each other eye to eye as equals, her mind froze. Should she tend to the frightened child that scurried to the centre of her soul for protection, or step into the woman she was bound by destiny to become? Should she turn heels and run to the hills or stand her ground and gift herself the truth? She closed her eyes and called upon her angels.'

I had a real sense today that the book I am writing is the wrong one. A calling from so deep within me, it almost ached. A thin voice calling, longing to be nurtured. My pen is unpicking stitches from war wounds that never healed. An old story, yearning to be told. 

But the question is, how do I know that I am strong enough to tell it?