There's something about the feel of a pen on paper that has always oddly felt like a home to me.   The feel of the pen moving over the paper, somehow felt natural and right to me.  The scratch of ink across the page.  The way words seemed to flow straight through your fingertips before your mind can even catch them.  It sounds strange to have such a passion for penmanship and the flow of a pen moving across a page....but its true.  Writing never felt like work to me.  It felt like a release.  

I started writing pomes long before I ever called myself a writer.  ( to be honest I only recently called myself a writer, three years after I published a book) They were places to put emotions I didn't know how to carry.  Feelings I had stuffed down because somewhere along the way, I learned it wasn't safe to feel to much, or share to much of those feelings.  So I wrote instead.  

What truly cracked me open though- what pushed me both in my writing and painting into something deeper - was my son going to prison.  That kind of pain changes you.  It broke something wide open inside of me that could no longer stay silent.  I needed somewhere for the grief, the anger, the pain, the shame, the love, the  hope,  the heartbreak and healing to go. 

So I started creating. 

Not because I had everything figured out

Not because I was strong

But because expression became survival.

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Writing "My Heart Behind Bars" was never graceful.  It wasn't some beautiful flow of inspiration and perfectly placed words.  It was emotional. Messy. Personal. At times it felt like bleeding onto the paper while strangers stood around and critiqued the color of the blood.  

There were many hard moments in writing my book.  One of the hardest was exposing myself in ways I already felt judged on. Putting my already broken heart out there for more scruitney and judgement, one of the most challenging parts was fighting to keep it mine.  

There were many conversations about what the book ought to be about, how the book should be.  Many wanting it to be more about the boys, inside the prison walls.  but that was never the book that I wanted to write.  Their story is theirs to tell.  This one was about me- the mother left standing in the aftermath.  The grief, shame, confusion, heartbreak, survival and the love that exist on this side of the prison walls.  Mostly I never wanted anyone to feel as alone as I did in this experience, to suffer in silence in your heartache.  

My words often clashed with editors.  Some changes helped for me to soften some of my words.  Some absolutely stung which built a fire inside of an already burning anger.  One editor removed so much of the book entirely that I wanted to scream.  I had to find an editor I had been working with prior to get the old manuscript to salvage 

parts that were stripped away.  I had many moments on when I wanted to quit, that being one of them.  I had moments when I questioned myself.  Moments criticism hit so hard I could physically feel it sitting heavy on my chest.  And still...... I would not budge on certain things. Through the course of writing my book I believe I went through 5 editors.   In the end utilizing the two I had started with and only wasn't able to keep working with the whole time because they left the company.  I still keep in touch with both of them and utilize their skill and knowledge.  If it wasn't for them I would not have been able to salvage as much of the writing I had from prior manuscript.  It was tough to add back in to get the flow.  Even now, there are spelling mistakes, grammar issues, choppy transitions.  People will notice them. Some already have.  But the truth is, perfection was never the soul of this book.  Survival was.  

I had to learn how to take feedback without abandoning myself (still learning that and sometimes it is hard).  How to swallow my pride enough to admit that sometimes the editors did have a point, while also knowing when to stand my ground because something mattered deeply to me.  Or keeping something written even if the editor found it redundant or that it wasn't normal done like that.. I felt it and I wanted it to stay that way.  Sometimes I just felt it and when I read it I could feel it again and I knew it had to stay.  That balance is harder than people realize.

Publishing a book is vulnerable in ways nobody prepares you for.  People pick apart your words, your story, your pain, your choices.  They discourage you without even realizing they are doing it.  Or they discourage you from writing what you want because it lights them up and you have to explain why you want it worded that way.    They have there own shame attached to whatever it is they are reading and want to change it so its softer, easier to digest.  Somethings are just as they are and they are not easy to digest and yet they still need to be talked about.  So somewhere underneath all the noise, if you truly feel something in your bones....if you know this story needs to exist... you keep going anyways

And I did.  

I don't want to make it sound like it was easy.  It was not, it was raw, it was real and I felt every page I wrote.  Non fiction is hard and yet so rewarding an lethargic.  You know I can read a page in the book, let's say 61 to 65 and I can be right back there.   I can bring myself back to standing in my bedroom rocking back and forth while standing talking on the phone to my son, me doing my best to follow the direction of Marks words, whatever you do Lor,  DON'T CRY.  Listening to the sobs of my son, the pain, doing my best to calm him down, putting aside the manipulation of why I finally got to talk to him and doing my best to not break down, to allow the tears to silently fall while I let my son know I loved him today as much as yesterday and always.  The moment the police ended the call, once they got what they needed, me crumbling into a pile of brokenness on my bedroom floor after doing one of the best performances Id ever preform in my life, giving my son the false indication that everything was ok, and we were all going to be ok.  

Writing your feelings is tough because you feel them.  You can not pretend it doesn't hurt.  You can't make up the raw emotions.  If you are able to convey them onto the paper great and sometimes that is harder than it sounds.  Then your exposed, vulnerable so when it comes to publishing so many fears go through your brain.  The criticism, the judgement all the peoples who are going to know your story.  It almost makes you not want to put it out.  Yet you know you can't be alone in this there must be others that have go through this. so you push through all the fears and doubt and continue on.  Writing your story non fiction or fiction is hard to publish, you can believe in it, proud of it and want to share yet there is that vulnerable part of you that if you allow it, will take over and stop you from pushing through.  It is leaving yourself so open, so exposed.  I found the publishing part tricky.  I so wanted my story out there even if it was choppy and wasn't 100 percent the way I wanted it.  I figured the people that needed it, wanted it, would get the point of the story not worrying about the choppy bits and such.  When it was truely out there my gosh all the emotions of what ifs that would rear there ugly head.  I did a book signing and was terrified no one would show.  yes they did however it was a real fear.  lol

It isn't all hard and push back though sometimes it is.  It isn't all roses and rainbows though sometimes it is.  What I think I learned the most from writing this book was courage, the courage to be vulnerable, the courage to speak about things that we don't speak about, I learned love, compassion and as odd as it sounds self worth.  Writing can open you up in ways you never dreamed of. 

I just finished a rough draft of a fiction book, it took way less time to write than my non fiction.  It was fun, it was exciting, I could use my imagination to write whatever I wanted.  it was so freeing, differently freeing than writing non fiction.  And still when I got the edits back from the editor I found myself  having to not abandon myself while reading the feedback. Nothing like a good edit to allow you to sort out one of your wounds or road block in life.   My point being if you have self doubt, self worth issues, perfectionism, or being accepted, publishing will be a challenge for you.  It doesn't mean do not do it, it means you will have to heal some of that shit and even though it is terrifying do it anyways.