When you don't know how to weave it together

When you don't know how to weave it together

I have 16,000 words. That's not nothing. But it's also the moment where a foundation starts to feel like a maze.

The hurricane is the problem. Not because it didn't happen, but because I don't know where it lives in the story. Is it the breaking point? Is it just one of many things that tried to take me down? I have pages about it but they feel separate from everything else, like they belong in a different book entirely.

This is the part of memoir writing no one warns you about. The first part is catharsis. You pour it out. You finally say what you've been carrying. But then you hit the wall where you have to actually craft something. Where you have to figure out not just what happened, but why it matters in the context of everything else.

I don't have the answer yet. But here's what I'm doing: committing to 6am writing on mornings I'm not running. Not because I'm suddenly disciplined, but because I'm beginning to understand that the weaving happens in the repetition. In showing up before my brain turns on. In writing the same scene badly five times until something clicks.

I'm also looking at resources. Books on craft. Maybe a writing group. People who've figured out how to hold a hurricane and a whole life in one narrative.

If you've done this work, if you know how to weave the big moments into the small ones, or if you're stuck here too, I want to hear from you. Because I think this part of the journey is meant to be done together, not alone.

I'll be showing up at 6am. Come find me there.