NaNoWriMo has become an intense healing process for me. The entire novel has shifted since my grandma died Saturday and I think its better now. Its like a journal assigned by a therapist. It helps.
Here’s a paragraph I wrote today:
You realize that people who call on a regular basis ever only wanted to talk to her, so the phone doesn’t ring with calls from her bridge partners anymore but yet has started to ring more and more, only this time with telemarketers asking to speak with the ‘lady of the house’ and your body gets all these sharp pricks all over and when they call for what feels like the 50th time that is actually only the 3rd, you feel like telling them to go to hell because she’s not here and so you do, and you scream so loud that you spit all over and you slam down the receiver while sobbing because you’re left wondering how to explain to anyone why she isn’t here and won’t get any messages you take down and its only when you figure that out that you’ll plug the phone back in.
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