“red,white” by devi laskar

I’ve taken a “summer break” from my novel in progress, Shadow Gardens, to work on a nonfiction piece that has been bothering me, yes, irritating me, no annoying me to no end for the past two years.

It is a painful topic I’m tackling. Painful not just in the obvious way: a series of unfortunate events in “real life” that began a few summers ago that has changed me. Painful because I felt I, as a writer and a once upon a time ago journalist, couldn’t effectively communicate what I’d experienced.

Although I’ve continued to write fiction since “real life” took over my “writing life,” I’ve been very committed to one day writing down the events that took control of me like a dog would a chew toy. But I kept waiting for a sign, a little providence, a moment where I knew this was the “perfect” time to write about my experiences.

I’m a little stuck with my novel these days, and after recycling and reusing the last scene I wrote with my protagonist Mrs. Lahiri for more than a month, I decided that Mrs. Lahiri, and her author, needed a break. A summer holiday.

Not wanting to stop writing, I thought hard about what I was pondering when I wasn’t unpacking boxes or trying to reinvent my family’s life after a recent big move. I keep returning to the events of two years ago. It’s still fresh in my thoughts. What I realized is that there is no perfect time to write this piece. I can only free myself from those events if I write it down, all of it, every single moment, however ugly both the content and the process are.

It’s not the end result, it’s the journey, and it’s taken me two years to realize that. But now that I have, I am on my way.