When Writing is Personal...

As writers, we all have lines we've written that mean something to us.

Words that, every time we read them, stir feelings. Maybe they inspire us, reminding us to keep doing what we love. Perhaps they're deeply personal...that one time, we were able to get down in words the true nature of what we held inside. 

For me, the Slave series was deeply impacted by personal experiences with severe social fear, particularly in my teen years...when life is already angsty enough. 

I remember a time, and couple years after high school ended, sitting outside Barnes and Noble (ironically) with a friend. I was feeling lost, unsure of my future. In his clear thinking, he asked: What is it that you want to do? What do want to do, Laura? 

In that moment, I wanted to scream, but in quiet words I said simply, "I want to write." 

"Then go to college and study creative writing. Study literature." 

What he didn't know, what he couldn't possible understand, was that his advice CRUSHED me. His words, though rational, made me feel that I would never write...not in the way I wanted to. 

The reason: FEAR. 

Why would I subject myself to another battleground of social anxiety like college, when I'd just escaped high school? You may not believe me, but when I say it was severe, that's no exaggeration. Many times I sat in a bathroom stall, crying and glaring, angry at myself for being AFRAID to walk into the lunch room and sit with my own FRIENDS. My heart was always racing, my mind always distracted and hyper-analyzing. Always. Nights were spent with a gnawing ache in my chest, anxiety screaming at me over all the 'mistakes' I'd made in conversations, actions, choices...

There was no way, in my still traumatized mind, that I would suffer through that again. So, in that moment, sitting in his car outside BARNES AND NOBLE, 

I lost hope that I would ever be an author. 

Years and many experiences later, the love of stories rattled back to life inside of me after reading The Hobbit on an afternoon drive between New York and Maine. Time passed, and the hunger only grew. Finally, in 2014, I gave in.

I began to read voraciously...obsessively. 

I studied YouTube videos and iTunesU lessons. 

I read blogs and articles...and practiced my heart out. 

There was this one stretch of weeks that I obsessively bought legal pads. In the evenings, I'd sit at the table at my MIL's house where we lived for a time, scratching words into stories, oblivious to anyone around me entering and exiting the house. I was captivated. That's the only word that could describe it. 

Surely they all thought I'd lost my mind. But what was happening was the birth of courage. I was learning to be brave. 

In the third book of my series, which is not yet released, there's a line Hannah says that is directly inspired by that moment in the car with my friend all those years ago. As they're running the base of the mountain, rushing to aid dying Workers, she says, 

"In my mind, I see my mother. When the Watcher dragged her away, she used her whole body, all her muscles, trying to break free. That’s how I feel now…like I’m straining, but I can’t reach the thing I want, no matter how far my fingers stretch."

Fear was dragging me away. Fear was stealing my dream. And no matter how desperately I wanted it, I believed it would never happen. 

But we can be free from fear. We can be brave. I found strength and grace in the power of God's love for me, whispering to me in the deep places of my heart that He put the dream there on purpose, and His breath stirred it back to life. 

Keep dreaming. 

You're braver than you think. 

I believe in you. 

Always. 

Laura Fran