Last month, I shared with you my challenges of taking baby steps up terror mountain and was rewarded with the most powerful gift a girl could ever hope for:
Heaps and heaps of authentic human connection.
So much that I cried when I read the replies.
They came in the form of resonance, like P who thanked me for sharing my realistic (not Facebook happy) process, and K who recognized the paradox of being called brave for things that come easy, and yet crippled by things others find normal.
They came as motivation, like N who described meaningful conversations with friends about my last book, M who advocated for a wider publication of my articles, and J who gifted me a straight up “GIRL YOU'VE GOT THIS!”
They came in the way of tools. J shared a trick of getting quiet enough to listen to the fear, A uses a step at a time process until the groove overtakes the existential dread, and H approaches scary things with an “I can’t believe I get to do this!” attitude.
They also came in the form of wisdom. M—I kid you not—sent a beautiful 1300 word essay about not taking a moment of precious life for granted. And L—well, I’m just going to let you hear L’s words exactly as written: “I think every day we have an opportunity to just be more real, and that this one thing can make real change in the world.”
Right??
Since these weren’t public posts, I erred on the side of privacy in resharing, but I couldn’t keep all these valuable insights to myself. Nor the far more important perspective that we are all in this crazy life thing together.
There was me, being real. And there was you, being real right back.
It was such a gorgeous reminder that we’re all just humans, trying our best to do our human thing. We’re all messy and weird and brave and vibrant and vulnerable in our own ways. And the act of creation rests right in the middle of all of these states of being.
It’s also not lost on me that all this intimate connection came through words—proving what a meaningful vehicle writing can be. It’s certainly not all rainbows, and unicorns, and lattes at coffee shops, but you’ve reminded me of what an absolute privilege it is—even the terrifying parts.
I am beyond grateful for how much you’ve helped me lean forward.
Here’s what I did with all that love.
I jammed on the research for the next book, code-named Cloud, poring through several cool (and dense!) history books. I swelled the outline to a rich and detailed 35 pages. I cut the first two chapters of ‘throat clearing’ I’d written before, and feel ready to start putting actual characters into actual scenes and begin the messy magic.
So September was big. :)
Let’s hear it for October.
Thanks to you, I’ve set a new theme for this month. I blocked out all the necessary butt-in-seat time, but instead of setting an outcome goal, like a number of pages or a daily word count, I’ve set a behavioral goal. My intention is to approach the page each day with joyful curiosity. Whatever happens, I’m excited to see what the characters decide to share with me.
And then I’ll pass it along.
Because Cloud is now your book too.
All my best,
Cheyenne
