Last week, I wrote a dialogue between two characters in a middle-grade novel I’ve been working on for quite some time:
“Where have you been hiding?” she whispered.
Where have you? it seemed to question in return.
It stopped me cold. Because I realized my main character was talking to me.
You see, I’ve been writing this novel from a perspective not simply in third person, but as much removed from a personal tragedy as I could possibly manage. I altered the event. I changed the challenge. I told myself I needed to protect those I love.
And yet I continued to believe I could somehow help others face their own truth while hiding the truth from myself. (Spoiler alert: you can’t.)
If there’s anything I’ve learned in this past year, it’s this: we cannot deny the devastating consequences of deception and lies.
Admittedly, it’s taken some time, but I’m finally coaxing my innocent adolescent heart out of hiding. She wasn’t easy to find. You see, she’s been silent, frozen under layers of ice, but I’m giving her back her voice.
And I’m so looking forward to see what she has to say.