Unexpected Inspiration

I’ve been listening to Lee Child narrate his Reacher book on Audible, and I am thoroughly enjoying it. It’s safe to assume that an author who’s written more than 20 books about the same character has a compelling storytelling ability, but who knew his voice would be so fantastic to listen to?

I didn’t.

When I started listening, I expected to be entertained. I surmised that I may learn a thing or two. I assumed I’d be inspired as an author.

What I didn’t expect was an influx of creative energy. Through the book, he talks about where he was in life, what was happening, and his writing process for 24 of his Reacher books. It spans 24 years of Lee’s life. 24 years of world, culture, and technology changes. 24 years of marriage and family life. Twenty-four years!

This is the second time I’ve listened to this book. My initial listen was what inspired me to write these story notes. I’m not very good at remembering these days. I take care of a lot of people and a lot of details on a daily basis. I’m that person who walks into a room and wonders why I had sprinted into it in the first place.

Sure, we can blame it on menopause (scowl eyes to all the old women who never warned me about brain fog), but truthfully, it’s likely a combination of that and just a sheer overload of details that I manage daily.

I knew I wouldn’t remember this time. And I desperately want to, the way I wanted to remember all the moments with the kids through the year.

I’ve been thinking about Magnolia Isle and my main character, Hannah Brookes. I’ve crafted the backstory. I understand her motivation and her emotional pulls. She speaks in my head—alive and changing through the course of my day.

My house lacks quiet in this season. It’s often very hard for me to get to the page. It’s often hard to concentrate.

And the biggest hurdle of all during this season of my life is emotions. It’s an emotionally difficult time.

If you’ve never had an intimate and raw conversation with someone of the sandwich generation who is actively participating in the care of a parent, I encourage you to try it sometime. I feel lucky that I had the chance to have conversations like that before I stepped into that season of life.

It’s an emotionally heavy season watching a loved one decline slowly—my mom has dementia. My parents were always adamant that my mom should never be put in a facility, so instead, we found a house that allowed my parents to move in with us. We’ve cared for her for the last few years and will continue to do so for as long as God allows us the privilege.

Not many people navigate their parents' care the way we have anymore. It used to be something everyone did. Now, it’s still common in other countries, but not here in the U.S. It’s not something a lot of people understand here.

Most days, I feel way out of my element. I have moments, like most moms, where I wonder if I was the best mom I could be that day. Now, though, I have the extra layer of also wondering if I was a good caretaking daughter, too. Navigating a disease that has such a wide span of symptoms and care requirements means that we scramble a lot. We have to shift, learn context clues for the things she can’t communicate, and be present 24/7. It doesn’t shut off. Cameras, alarms, and constant reminders throughout the day to do basic things like sip water. It’s wild, weird, strange, and in a very sweet way—it’s a blessing.

Caring for someone in this capacity has a way of stretching you as a human and challenging a lot of the things you thought before. So you grow through it, or you shrivel. Shriveling isn’t an option.

But that kind of growth can leave you emotionally exhausted with little recovery time, even for someone like me who seeks out active ways to rest.

I work harder to show up on the page. Harder than I’ve ever had to before. It’s harder to get the words out, harder to stay focused.

And it’s tempting on so many days to not show up. No one knows. No one set the deadline. Heck, there’s barely even an audience waiting out there, so it’s not like I’ll disappoint anyone.

Except I would.

I’d disappoint myself.

And I’d disappoint my mom. She was always begging me to write fiction again. She loved reading the stories I’ve allowed her access to through the years. Even though she isn’t with me in this journey in the same way—she’s still here, and she’s still my biggest fan.

She’d want me to write this during this season, especially because she’d want me to remember certain things about life through it all.

She’d want me to remember that we all have God-given talents and it’s our responsibility to steward those.

She’d want me to remember that we show up, honor the commitment, and complete the job, especially when it’s hard.

Lee Child shares many interesting things that happened during his Reacher years. Year after year, he kept living through his life while Reacher lived parallel in his world. Lee showed up on the page during his writing season each year, and then he’d spend months experiencing—sometimes that meant the business side of being a writer, and sometimes it meant being a husband/father/tourist/friend.

Nothing paused or stopped in order for him to write.

And nothing needs to stop or pause in order for me to write, either.

The book is coming together one complete sentence after another.

Something silly I got stuck on and spent way too much time thinking through was where to put one particular restaurant. I drew out the map, flipped the page way too many times. Then this morning, I let myself just get into the world, and it clicked.

Lee talks about how he never wrote with an outline. He would get the niggling of an idea, he’d get the title and then boom- Chapter One would be the first thing he wrote. One sentence after the next, no outline, no direction…likely—no overthinking.

Overthinking can be death to an author’s creative flow. It’s hard to push it to the side and force yourself to construct sentence after sentence. They won’t all be gold, baby. Hopefully, though, at the end of it all, you’ve got a book you can be proud of. Most importantly, you’ve got a book that made your readers feel something.

Thanks for the influx of creative inspiration, Lee.