I have had this nagging feeling lately that my novel has been going in the wrong direction. That the path I had originally seen it heading down no long fit. I wanted to create an “alternate universe” where these people lived. But the more I write the more things started to feel dystopian. I didn’t want to venture into that genre because I read a lot of books in that genre and I never felt like I could stand side by side with those authors.
But the more I read them, the more they morph my views on my novel, and the more I realize I have to let go and I have to let my novel go where it wants. Its a hard thing for me to do; relinquish control. I don’t like feeling unsure and powerless. I like to be in command when it comes to things that are important to me. So being told that what I think it right, actually isn’t in my best interest is a difficult pill to swallow. Though, for the sake of my novel I will let go of the reins and follow the real path it should take.
I read my most recent YA dystopian novel was Under the Never Sky by Veronica Rossi. I finished this book in a day and a half and when I was done I had a sure feeling inside me that this was the genre I need to be a part of. I thought about reviewing this book, along with the others I have read in the past month or so. But I don’t like giving things away. I don’t like to review books and talk about what happens because that to me ruins it for someone else. And my thoughts for these books – whether I enjoy or dislike them – always end up the same. These books take me out of this world and into a new one. They let me momentarily forget about what things are like in the world today, and bring me to another time where the world is changed. More so than an escape, these books always leave me feeling the same emotion.
No matter how horrible these societies are, there is always that lingering feeling that everything will work out. The more so than love, hope can fuel a nation, a people, a single entity and change can come from that. Its an incredible concept, and not easy to put into words. You have to give the readers hope. even if everything ends in horrible madness or destruction, the lingering sensation of hope needs to be there.
We need hope.
“Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all.”
― Emily Dickinson
If we don’t have hope, we have nothing to drive us, nothing to strive for. We become slaves, drones and zombies. Which is exactly what I’ve been. Lately I lost hope in myself. I stopped trying, I stopped caring, and I stopped having faith in myself. and it brought me into a place where I just didn’t like. I had a grey could over my head, and everyone could feel it.
Yesterday morning was my breaking point. I snapped and cried and yelled and cried some more. But my Mr. stayed by me during this and tried to talk reason into me. I refused to listen, he kept trying. I attacked the world with ridiculous reasoning, and he kept trying. Eventually, I started to hear him. And the more I listened the more it hit me.
I had lost hope.
And in that moment I realized that I needed to make a change. I can’t keep thinking that the world owes me and that I deserve everything that happens. The chip on my shoulder had turned into a chunk and had thrown me off balance.
Smiles from the threshold of the year to come,
Whispering ‘it will be happier’…”
― Alfred Tennyson
So I have decided to embark on a journey to bring the hope back. Writing gives me hope. It gives me an escape from reality, just like reading does. And I want my words to be able to do the same for someone else. I don’t write to become famous. I don’t write to make money. I write with the desire to inspire. Some day, down the line, when a book of mine is published, I want someone to read it and be inspired to become a writer. I want my words to matter to someone. Even if it is just one person.
That one person is my hope.