A Journey Into Self!

Writing my memoir is an incredible journey filled with discovery of self. I'm sure for those of you who journal it would be similar if you picked up an old journal, say from fifteen years ago and re-read it. Well that's how writing my memoir has been for me.

Looking back, for most of my life, I understood that my childhood had been riddled with physical, emotional and sexual abuse. But it was always as if I was on the outside looking in.

Even the first version of this memoir that was under a book deal with a big time publishing house. I put a lot of information in that first manuscript, but I did not unpack not one story. Maybe I just needed to get it all out of me as a base line. Or maybe I was also protecting myself, from my own story. Let me tell you, walking head on into a deep black hole of abuse is no easy task. You have to have a lot of nerve and equal strength to examine every horrible thing, but at the same time not allow it to consume you. I believe that I could not have done this that first time around.

I know for sure that the first book was riddled with crazy and that is always a sign. My first ghost writer who was a former editor at a magazine that I was suppose to trust quit, leaving me high and dry because the advance wasn't enough money for her liking.

But truth be told, under pressure, she couldn't do the job. Before the book was sold, another major publishing house asked us for a sample chapter and rejected her efforts two times, like what the fuck is this? As a result, my literary agent said it lost us a six future book deal. He was royally pissed, especially since literary agents get their payment up front.

Then, my second writer, could deliver a sample chapter, but after about five chapters it was clear that she couldn't complete the task. It read like a six year old had written that bull shit. I fired her and she walked away with the ten thousand dollar advance that I had given her up front in good faith.

 My back was against the wall. I had to deliver this manuscript to the publishing house that actually signed me, so I wrote it myself. At the time, I did the best that I could with what I had. I knew that it needed revisions, but I also understood that my editor at the big time publishers would guide me through that process, that's why they get paid the big bucks. But she didn't make sense to me. I remember one time she told me, "I want it to read like a Jame Frey, embellish, embellish, embellish, just don't lie." WTF?

After weekly calls with her and submitting revisions on I think three chapters it wasn't even remotely enough for my big time editor.  She told my literally agent  that it was the worst written manuscript that she had ever read and that it was not her job to re-write and the publishing house walked.  I was crushed. The rejection, left me wounded. I internalized this like I internalized everything my mother told me about myself that wasn't true. It is crazy to think that I allowed  this woman to get in side my head. I had just finished my Master of Divinity degree at McCormick Theological Seminary on a Merit Scholarship and was working on my PhD on an academic scholarship at the Luther School of Theology. Of course I could write.

About six months later, my good friend, George Curry, who was the editor of Emerge Magazine, said so. But most importantly, after he read the manuscript, he said to me that this is one hell of a story that must be told. That publishing house he felt, made a mistake. He told be to do the re-write, and not worry about who validates me. But I was so paralyzed, no matter how many times I tried I bulked.
I could tell the stories of what happened, but I would never re-enter them. Maybe that was a tool of survival for me, just like when I was a child living it. I had learned to keep the pain at a distance. Today, I can honestly say that I have held little Rae's hand. I have cried with her  and nourished her as she told her truths.

Looking back, maybe God knew that the time was not right those twelve years ago. My subconscious said HELL TO THE FUCKING NAW!  It was not willing to allow me to give of myself, not in this way. I believe  that there are no mistakes. I wanted that book deal so bad for so many reasons but I was not ready to tell the story that needed to be told.

Even when God gives you an assignment, when the time is right, the Universe lines up with every move you make. Today I am writing my ass off, telling the story that needs to be told, in spite of the pain.

 I have a wonderful editor who is working her ass off with no money upfront. I have five readers on the team who are walking this painful journey with me. Not to forget my therapist and my psychiatrist who has helped me to unpack every painful thing that needed attention. They have listened to me read chapters with patience and compassion and helped me to unpack every horrible thing that happen to me.

As painful as it has been when I embarked on this book project a year and half ago, I was ready to do this. I was ready to walk in solidarity with that girl  little Rae, who was so deeply wounded by those who should have protected her. Over the years, people have asked often, if speaking was cathartic. My answer has been an unequivocally NO.

But writing this memoir has been a journey into myself. Looking into that black hole that was my life, has been one of the most important parts of my healing.

I know that I will walked away better for giving my  journey up to the universe for God to use. I hope and pray that those who read my memoir Unprotected will not only hold onto the hand of little Rae, but the little girl, the little boy that walked their own journey. Although, we may not be the same issues, we, hurt nonetheless.
What I know for sure, at some point in our life, we must release the pain, so that you can fully heal.