As I said in last week’s post, this book is different from my usual offerings.
I write fantasy, and all of my titles to date have been fiction in that genre. But my new book is memoir, mixed media in the sense that it combines narrative with poetry and photographs. I’m really pleased with how the project has come together, and I suspect I will be creating more such projects.
I haven’t abandoned fantasy, however. Those of you who are fans of my fantasy need not worry. Fantasy is in my very bones, and I intend to write it for as long as I can string words together.
I don’t have a release date yet for the new book, but here is the opening for it.
My Invitation to You
Come with me.
Come take a journey with me.
It is not an easy journey. In fact, it begins in the darkest of all places, the shadow of the valley of death.
So, why should you come, when the beginning is so dark?
Because the journey does not end there.
You have probably already been to the dark place. Someone you love died. Or some piece of yourself that is essential died in you. Someone betrayed you. Someone abandoned you. Or maybe you abandoned you.
There are as many ways to descend into darkness, or be claimed by it, as there are mortals walking this green earth.
But why should you come with me?
And why should you come now?
Because there was something about this book—its cover, its title, its description, or perhaps something unquantifiable—that attracted you, that spoke to you. Some still, small voice within you called or whispered or summoned you.
Come. Come!
Is this a self-help book with questions and exercises and points made?
No. It isn’t.
It’s a sharing of my own journey into grief, the heartbreaking moment of loss, the dark descent, the ocean breakers of feeling, the uneven rise from the depths, the glimpses of light, the instances of relief, and the slow, sure gathering of strength and new life.
So why would you want to experience this?
Because you’ve already been through it yourself. Or because you’re in the middle of such a journey of your own. Or because you fear the journey into grief that lies in your future.
When we take such journeys, we humans, the one thing that enables us to bear up under the weight and the challenge of it is knowing that we are not alone.
We may be alone at the time of our traveling along the dark path.
We may be alone in the specific details of our sojourn.
But we are not alone in our experience of loss and grief.
So come with me.
Come with me, that I may not be alone.
Come with me, that you may not be alone.
Let us move through the darkness together, and emerge again into new life, new life that has grown from the seeds that could sprout only in the deeps.
Our journey will be hard, but amazing. And our emergence will be more amazing still.
Come!
I invite you.
For more excerpts from Journey into Grief, see:
Grief
Mourning
One Crossing
Upwelling
In time, we all become men of sorrow, women of sorrow, people of sorrow. John Claypool echoed this truth in the preface to his book Tracks of a Fellow Struggler, and it is a bitter truth indeed.
