Today I gave my therapist a tiny little ceramic unicorn, one I had kept from childhood. I wanted to give her something, to remember me by and also, because she was my ally in giving me back myself.
I thought the unicorn would be a good symbol, a symbol of my magic, my power and passion, which she helped me to unlock. She called me sweetie and said she would keep it forever and never forget me. My nightmare astounded her, she said it marked a turning point in my life. It means I have taken up authority over my own life now.
My greatest dreams, which would have been stillborn, all those hopes I dashed before they could even be brought forth, I am now hard at work bringing out into the light. I don't care if I risk great failure in doing so. I won't let my fear of failure determine my course of action.
My story has taken a strange plot twist.
All those other plot ideas I thought I had didn't pan out. This left me at just over fifty thousand words and the end in plain sight.
I couldn't artificially pad the story, because then the story becomes crap. I thought, what the hell, I'll just write it out to the bitter end.
So I got to what would have been my end, when I first started the plot. And then I realized how the story was suppose to continue. It's unnerving me.
What has to happen is that Ceallach and Phillipa must have a child. And then a faerie must come and take their child, leaving a changeling behind. They must go return to Tir na nOg to get their child back.
The first time they went, they didn't know who they were, or who they would be together. When they go back this time, they will go back with knowledge and confidence and a driving, defining purpose. They will end up raising both children, but, in which world I haven't decided yet.
This is a diabolical plot twist for me. I don't want to write about pregnancy. What if I can't, never having been pregnant myself? On the other hand, it's oddly fitting. I will cover biological children, adopted children, loss of children. Everything that I have been brooding over for the past year and a half. In that sense, I will have the...emotional capital, I suppose...that its writing will require.
I've already begun and I did feel a sharp pain as I slid into those waters. I'm moving very slowly through this part. I have to go back now, and reread and do some major editing that I've been putting off. But I feel the need to clean house, to straighten the crooked roads as it were, in preparation for this next part of the story.