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Emma Thomas

Every Single Breath…

Reason to Breathe was always a movie, even while I was writing it. A film playing in my head that I translated into words. That’s how the story presented itself to me. And that’s how I want to share it with you now.

I was told over and over again that once a book is optioned I, the author, wouldn’t have a say in what the movie becomes. I was advised to hope for the best and walk away. To allow the production company to create the film they believe is best. That I needed to separate myself from the film.

I can’t. Not with Emma’s story.

I’ve also been warned that a film is not a direct translation of the book. One page of script equates one minute of film. Certain scenes need to be sacrificed. Compromises must be made.

But how can I possibly decide which scenes are relevant and which are not? Do we delete the dinner with Catherine or the make-over at Sara’s? Is it Evan and Emma’s talk by the brook that’s not worthy of film? Or the non-date at the batting cages? How can I delete a single one of them?

I can’t. Every moment is important to Emma’s journey.

So that we can bring every moment in the book to life, Reason to Breathe will be separated into three films. Breaking up a single book into more than one film is not a new concept. It was done for Harry Potter, The Hobbit, and The Hunger Games. But we’re taking it a step further and making this into a three-part movie series. We won’t have to compromise a single scene. This is a powerful story, and you should experience every minute of it. You should feel every second of it.

I am a Writer…

“How’s the Writing Going?”

If I say that I’m writing, will it make it true? If I tell you the words are finding me, will it convince them to flow? If I want it enough, will it happen? I’ve wanted to believe that by saying it, I was inviting creativity back into my life. But it was only a lie I wanted to be true.

I am a writer, searching for creativity.

“How’s the Writing Going?”

I’ve been writing the same four chapters for over a year. I’ve rewritten the same four chapters again and again, hoping to spark the story from which they were created. I listen… but the voices only speak to me in sporadic bursts – fading before I can capture them.

I stare at my screen, waiting for the words. I stare at the walls. I stare out the window. Hours go by. My house is clean. My laundry is folded. My screen remains blank. My head remains quiet.

I am a writer, without words.

“How’s the Writing Going?”

They become the words I dread most, instantly flooding me with shame. I cringe when my agent’s number appears on my phone, wishing I could tell her I have something… but I can’t. I watch my friends publish book after book. I praise their accomplishments – I am truly so proud of them. But I’m equally ashamed of my lack of contribution. Each time I attend a signing, I am humbled and grateful for every reader who waits in line to meet me. But then I want to apologize to each of them for only having the same four books without anything new released. The shame burrows deep, and I sink into its hole.

I am a writer, who is not writing.

“How’s the Writing Going?”

The question is now a blow to my gut, laden with guilt. Writing is my career. I chose to devote my life to it. I was so confident in my ability, I left everything else behind to pursue it. I once worked sixty to eighty hours a week, and now I can’t write a single page. I avoid my agent, my editor, my friends, my financial planner, not wanting to answer that ten-thousand-pound question. I am a fraud.

I am a writer, who cannot write.

“How’s the Writing Going?”

“It’s not!” I want to scream. “I’m not writing!”

Fear coils in my gut, cold and heavy. What if I can never write again? Have I written all that I’m meant to write? How will I pay my bills? Should I pursue another career? What’s wrong with me?

Wait. Say that again…

“What’s wrong with me?”

That’s when I know… Something is wrong. I can feel it in my vacant stare. Within the fog in my brain. I am lost. Disconnected. I am not myself.

With help from my doctor, I’ve spent the past year searching for me. The body is a delicate vessel, and if one thing is off-balance, it can affect everything. I have been off-balance, in need of fine tuning, like dialing in a radio station.

Static. Static. I can hear a voice. Lost it. Static. There! That’s it! Music!

I am a writer, who will write.

“How’s the writing going?”

It’s coming…

The voices speak louder each day. My confidence is re-emerging, comforting the fear with a hug, whispering “Everything’s going to be okay.” The shame and guilt have lessened, but insist on hovering. Soon, they too will be silenced because I don’t know how to give up. I am meant for this life, to share my words… to create.

I vow to never release a story just to ease the guilt. I will only share my words when they’re worthy of being read. I will live my truth and remain honest with who I am. And despite being lost in the haze of imbalance, I know exactly who that is.

I AM A WRITER.

I’ve Been Waiting for You!

I’ve never been one for New Year’s resolutions. They always seemed like work to me. And that’s not very much fun. Instead, I recognize something I learned from the previous year and allow it to influence the upcoming year. And in 2015… I learned a lot.

This past year was one of the most challenging years I’ve personally experienced in a long time. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. It was an enlightening year, allowing me to see my life and the world around me in a way I never have before. I gained insight on who I am as a person and an artist. And it introduced new experiences and connected me with people who have changed me in so many ways. It also has provided me with that much more knowledge to bring with me into 2016.

And that is why I am calling this the year of Beginning Again. There are many years preceding it, but this one is brand new. And only I get to decide how it will begin. I am excited by all of the possibilities… because they all exist. Every single possibility. Now all I have to do is to decide upon which one to make happen first.

A maybe it will begin with…

The Evolution of an Indie Author

Two years ago today, I clicked on a button that changed my life.

Publish

I became an Indie Author with that single click.

I watched the world react to Emma’s story. I heard every single cry of anguish. I read every single word questioning why I would end a book that way. I received every single email thanking me for exposing you to a story that made you feel. Continue reading…

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Copyright 2017 Rebecca Donovan