The Unpublished Chapters

It feels good to be lost in the right direction.


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Why I Write..

 


 Why I write: because creating something that didn’t exist before, is as close to magic as I’ll ever get. 

I just want to make beautiful things, even if nobody cares. I recently had a rare, awkward encounter, which involved many people hearing something I’d wrote. It was followed for days with comments I’m use to, (not to sound arrogant, which I am, *insincere giggles*) “You’re such a great writer! You should put that talent to use.” “Why isn’t your major in writing?” “Have you thought about making a career out of that?”  I just smiled politely, nodded, and blushed past some ‘thank yous.’ 

However, what I wanted to say was, “No, I am not such a great writer! Have you ever picked up classic literature?” But that would be snobbish and rude so I bit my tongue. “I do put my talent to use, whenever I have something worth saying, believe me, I don’t ‘bite my pen’.” And “I don’t want to study the English language, I want to experience it.”

Even more importantly though, in defense or rather clarification to artists everywhere, I don’t write because I have something important to say. I write, because without it, I wouldn’t even know what I thought, or even how I felt. The pen to the paper, the fingertips to the keyboard, I imagine it’s how a musician feels when they play a chord, or how a painter feels with each stroke. Like I said, it’s the closest thing to magic I’ve ever known. 

This particular situation gave me the magic to not only put to words what I was feeling, but possibly what everyone in the room was feeling. I love a painting, or a beautiful melody, something so emotional and raw, it takes your breath away, but the literal and poetic sword of the written word is my art. It’s not my next career move, or college class, it’s how I tell the world who I am

To be honest I’m just not ready for the whole world to care. When people ask to read my work, I shove the notebook, or laptop so far from reach you’d think I was working on the 4th installation of Fifty Shades, I’m not by the way. When I blog, I already know what people will think. The Internet tells me who reads my work. Thanks Internet. 

I guess my rambling point is writing is the best way to talk without being interrupted. If someone starts to pay me for writing, I would have to be open to interruption, and I’m not.

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Give Me My Dignity Back

“You are so lucky!”

Excuse me? Excuse me? Lucky? I am not lucky. Give me my dignity back and just walk away. I am a human being. My life is a blessing and maybe adoption was my destiny, but luck?

I am grateful, beyond words, which is saying something, because words are my specialty, but my life was destined for so much more than luck. My parents choosing me, my mother adopting me, my brother and I growing up to be fairly normal, mildly successful adults, (I mean for lost twenty something’s in the twenty-first century anyway,) that was damn hard work. I owe my parents a lot, but I have never thanked them for adopting me, nor do I expect I will, but thank them for being my mom and dad, I do that as often as I can.

I am not alive and thriving in this crazy-unpredictable world because I got lucky, but rather because God has blessed me with a loving family, the details are rather unnecessary.


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This Time Last Year…

This time last year I was anxiously awaiting a letter that never came, at least not willingly. I thought I could predict the outcome of a very complicated story, my complicated story. I thought I had control of how I would feel and how this would all play out. I knew there would be a little drama, because it’s my life, but I really had no idea what I was about to uncover.

Initially, anger and guilt overwhelmed me. I felt guilty for putting my parents or more importantly my brother through it. I tried hard to keep all the pressure of it on my own shoulders, but I know everyone directly involved suffered. And that made me outrageously angry with myself and all 3 of my parents.

Time has passed, the shock for everyone has subsided, the wounds are no longer fresh.

I thought by this time I would gain perspective. I figured with all the self-discovery I’ve gone through in the last year this would just solve itself. Maybe I thought I could just find forgiveness and accept everything, but I haven’t.

Don’t be mislead, it isn’t controlling my life. It doesn’t keep me awake at night, but I must fully admit, I haven’t come to terms with it. When I started the journey of discovering my birth-mother, I openly admitted I wanted the story. I wanted to know where I came from, in hopes that it would lead me to where I should go. But it’s been a long year and I can’t wrap my head around it.

If it comes up in conversation (which is rare, because it makes everyone uncomfortable) my mind blanks out. I have no feelings towards it. I’m not content, or angry, or guilty, or curious. I’m just numb.

My next step, is going to be talking to a professional, because I can’t accept that I feel nothing about something this big. Again, I might be getting in over my head. I might be putting myself through something most of my support system deems unnecessary, but what if it were you? What if it were your child?

I have no experience in this, nor do I know anyone with a history in complicated open adoptions, but if you have any perspective on having little, to no reaction to a supposed life-changing event, I’d love for you to share how you came to terms with it and how you explained what you “weren’t” going through to your loved ones.


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Welcome!

It’s been a long time coming. A lot of prayers, time, and tears.

I’m about to start a journey. Or rather turn a new chapter in one, because lets face it, life itself is the journey. I am 23 years old and for as long as I can remember I have wanted to be a writer. For me, one of the best ways to walk through life is to write it out, every bump in the road, every heartbreak, every joy. Life is full of coming of age stories and mine is about to become a cliche, a lifetime movie, and for those of you willing to join me on this scary journey, buckle up for the chaos. 23 years ago I was adopted. It’s been an underlining curiosity of mine for the entirety of my short lived life, and in the last few months it has started becoming an upfront, in your face desire to seek out this part of my life. I want to know and to write this part of my story.

My hope is to share every part. To see where it takes me, to see where it takes other people. Writing is my form of expression, but this isn’t just my story, so I will be sensitive to those involved. My mom (my real mom, as I will refer to her as) My Mother (my birth mom, as I will refer to her as) My dad, (my real dad) My father (if I have one?) My siblings and most importantly my twin brother. And I ask that you do the same. I am openly sharing this part of MY life, but it’s my view of it, not theirs. Keep that in my mind, especially if you know my family personally.

Thanks in advance for your support and sensitivity.

Jamie Rose