The blank page. It just stares back at me…taunting me without saying a word. That’s what I have been experiencing. I have the seed of a book inside me and some of it has blossomed into chapters but I have hit the proverbial end of the row. My book, a labor of love, is a memoir/self help book based on my life experiences of being the mother of an Autistic son. In order to write the best book possible I have to relive some of the moments of rage and violence that can occur with an Autistic child. Numerous times we were forced to call 911 on our son out of fear for our lives. The story has a positive outcome but there were years of pure hell that I must recall in order to get my story out there. Too many other parents of Autistic children fight the same system I did in the attempt to get aid for their family. My story might be of help to some of those struggling families. Telling my account will be cathartic to me as well. Sure I’ll have my rough moments, days even, but in the long run telling it will heal any wounds. I simply need to get focused again and the words will begin to flow. In the meantime I’ll stare at that blank page and wait for that seed of inspiration to germinate into something beautiful to behold…a finished manuscript.
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