I’ve been struggling with this blog post for the last week.
At first, I was simply overwhelmed by the emotional tsunami of having my story published. Strangers can now read a story that was carefully guarded for years, shared only with trusted friends. Putting it out there feels right, but it’s still nerve-wracking; I think I’ll just see it as having a much broader circle of friends to enjoy my stories.
The second time I sat down to write, I was feeling a little low. I spent the last four months laser-focused on publishing Lizzie’s Surprise. About a week after publication, I started to feel lost. My head understands that it will take time for my story to find it’s audience, but my heart felt a little wounded that sales were slow and that I wasn’t connecting with my readers.
And then tragedy struck Orlando. Lives ended, families ripped apart, because of hate. It makes me sad. It makes me angry. I’ve never understood why people are threatened by who other people love.
As Hamilton creator Lin-Manuel Miranda said so eloquently, “and love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love cannot be killed or swept aside.” Love doesn’t care about race. It doesn’t care what you look like, how fit you are, what limitations you may have. And it certainly doesn’t care if you are gay or straight or trans or bi.
I write stories about love and, while romantic love is the central theme, it’s not the only form of love represented. Love of friends, love of family, love of community – all are vital to my characters. Some of them love easily, others are more guarded, but in the end they all choose love.
Choose love. Choose to look beyond the neat little boxes that society tries to push us into and to look instead into the person’s eyes. Choose to accept and appreciate the differences which make us unique; we don’t need to be the same, to believe the same things, to be valuable and beautiful and loved.
Choose love. Always.
At first, I was simply overwhelmed by the emotional tsunami of having my story published. Strangers can now read a story that was carefully guarded for years, shared only with trusted friends. Putting it out there feels right, but it’s still nerve-wracking; I think I’ll just see it as having a much broader circle of friends to enjoy my stories.
The second time I sat down to write, I was feeling a little low. I spent the last four months laser-focused on publishing Lizzie’s Surprise. About a week after publication, I started to feel lost. My head understands that it will take time for my story to find it’s audience, but my heart felt a little wounded that sales were slow and that I wasn’t connecting with my readers.
And then tragedy struck Orlando. Lives ended, families ripped apart, because of hate. It makes me sad. It makes me angry. I’ve never understood why people are threatened by who other people love.
As Hamilton creator Lin-Manuel Miranda said so eloquently, “and love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love cannot be killed or swept aside.” Love doesn’t care about race. It doesn’t care what you look like, how fit you are, what limitations you may have. And it certainly doesn’t care if you are gay or straight or trans or bi.
I write stories about love and, while romantic love is the central theme, it’s not the only form of love represented. Love of friends, love of family, love of community – all are vital to my characters. Some of them love easily, others are more guarded, but in the end they all choose love.
Choose love. Choose to look beyond the neat little boxes that society tries to push us into and to look instead into the person’s eyes. Choose to accept and appreciate the differences which make us unique; we don’t need to be the same, to believe the same things, to be valuable and beautiful and loved.
Choose love. Always.
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