I’m a writer… again.

The question of whether I’m truly a writer seems to be a recurring theme here. Any other writers out there who feel the same, constantly wrestling with the answer?

I’ve been a librarian for 21 years, 10 of those as a children’s librarian. One thing I’ve learned is that people often think being a librarian is easy. Nothing could be further from the truth—especially when your daily role also includes tasks typically reserved for an adult programming librarian or even an assistant director. As a result, the job has demanded a great deal of my time and provoked its fair share of stress.

I’ve recently retired. Well, semi-retired. I gave up my title, my office, and my benefits, and I took a significant cut in hourly pay. For now, I’m staying on part-time to help train my replacement and provide technology support, currently working fewer than ten hours a week.

The months leading up to this transition were particularly hectic as I prepared everything for the new children’s librarian, a wonderful young lady who was truly an answer to prayer. As a result, I haven’t done any real writing for nearly six months, save for the occasional journal entry to maintain my sanity.

But now it’s time to dust off the keyboard and get back to it. It’s surprising how quickly I fell out of the writing habit, and it seems I’ll need to rebuild that muscle. Thank you for bearing with me as I find my voice again.

For now, blogging will be my focus as I rekindle my interest in finishing my book, which has been sitting untouched for quite some time. I need direction from God on this project. The basic outline is done, and I’ve got enough of a rough draft to start shaping it into a manuscript. The problem began right at the start of my revision process.

I had what I thought was the perfect opening—something I believed would hook readers from the first page. But as I revisited my journal entries from that time, I realized my memories didn’t quite line up with reality. This is where I got stuck: not just because of how much time revisions take but because I’ve begun questioning my own memories. If I can’t recall the beginning accurately, how much more of the story might be blurred?

Instead of writing, I’ve been immersing myself in books about the craft of memoir, and I’ve come to realize I’m overdramatizing the problem. This is a common issue for memoirists. In my case, I do remember the main facts and can back them up with documents and journals. My challenge now is restructuring the very beginning, and I’m no longer sure where that beginning should be.