Why we share (ourselves)

In case you ain't heard, I'm writing a novel. What kinda novel, you ask? A grief novel.

Oh, so it's a complete downer, right?

Not exactly.

Actually, the fact it ain't a complete downer is what excites me most about the project. I mean, it ain't just a grief novel. It's a deep-fried Southern grief novel.

You'd expect a grief novel to deal with a death or two. And you'd be spot on, as my novel includes the obvious losses that spark grief. But you can grieve situations as much as people, and you can grieve in advance. And you can grieve for your past, for the way things once were.

Grief can get complicated.

When we talk about grief, we don't talk enough about the loss of self. A deep loss forever changes you. You transform.

You're no longer the same person you were before the loss. Experience has seen to that. And, so, while you're missing the obvious person you've lost, you're also missing someone else: The person you were before the experience, the person you were with the one person you now miss. But, now, with that person gone—whether by death, breakup, or gradual drifting apart due to the slow burn of time—you have no choice but to become someone new. A version of yourself without the one you miss.

How great it would be if you could just turn back to that old version of yourself. To flip a switch and somehow pretend loss hasn't claimed you and etched its wicked scar upon you. But you can't. The loss has put you on a one-way street. And the road's blocked off behind you, keeping you from going back. No matter how you try, the Simulation forbids you to return from whence you came. As far as the Simulation is concerned, your desire does not compute. So, you stay on the one-way street, headed in the same direction: Forward.

This situation adds another layer to grief. Now you must wrestle with the anxiety of your new flavor of existentialism. Accepting you're stuck on this one-way street makes navigation easier on one hand, because you know you have only one option in terms of the direction you may move in. But the lack of choice can't calm fears accompanying the admission you have no idea where you're headed. Where are you going? Who are you to become? Change is inevitable, but that doesn't mean said change will be good. This scenario makes you powerless, as you have no choice but to accept something you never wanted or asked for. You have no choice but to lean into change while never knowing where said change is taking you.

This form of grief requires a certain type of blind faith you're not yet prepared for. But how can you be expected to trust so freely now, after you've suffered at least one devastating loss? How can you hope everything will work out when you're dealing with the aftermath of something gone terribly wrong?

But, at the same time, what's the cost of not getting fully on board? What's the cost of your arrested development? How much time will you lose because you've chosen to deny your destiny and fight your fate?

Is this everyone's experience with grief? Probably not. But it's been mine. And, if all these years of interacting online have taught me one thing, it's that my uncommon experiences ain't all that uncommon. And sharing those experiences creates connection.

And that's what I want for all my work—both personal and professional—I want it to connect me to others in some way. I want to exercise empathy and vulnerability in the hope of helping others solve whatever's gnawing at them. Sometimes you have to help by sharing things you've never heard anyone else share. But maybe no one else shared their own experience, not because they're afraid to do so, but because they couldn't find the right words to make sense of it all. (I hope my novel can help some people with that problem.)

This is why you must share. And why I must share as well. And, so, that's why I'm writing a grief novel called A Perception of Time. I've given myself a deadline of December 31, 2025, for my first draft.

The biggest question is: What do I do when it's ready for release? I'm pretty sure I don't want to try traditional publishing. I don't need them to pick me, which is good, because they likely wouldn't anyway. So, I figure I have three options:

1. Self-publish via Kindle, Gumroad, etc.

2. Give it away as a free EPUB.

3. Serialize on my newsletter.

Or, maybe there's something else I haven't thought of. That's where you come in. Let me know what you think by responding to this email.