Trelani’s book-idea breakdown: The hardest part of my life

This story is part of the series that I’m working on: Trelani’s book idea breakdown. While writing my books, I’m taking you through the process step-by-step. So far, I’ve outlined my vision and wrote two chapters already; this is the third. What makes this one unique is that I recorded myself talking about it first.

Although that was the goal, to show you all another way to gather your story, it worked out really well for me. My deadline was Sunday that just passed. I gotta call on Wednesday from someone needing a rush-job done by Friday, then I got another call on Friday from someone needing a rush-job done by the 31st. Time has been short, so audio recording worked really well for me. 

First Step 

First, I recorded my stories. I did three, but I’m sharing one. You can access it here.

Second Step

I transcribed my stories. You can do it yourself or you can pay someone else to do it (a friend, family member, or a freelancer on Fiverr.com). The transcription includes everything that came out in the unfiltered moment of talking. I chose to keep some parts in the actual story, but I left a lot out. I added more in too. See exactly how I changed it by reading it before and after. Access it here. 

Third Step

I went through and cleaned it up. Moved some stuff around, added to it, and made it flow more and just sound better. My main goal was to make sure that it had clear beginning, middle, and end, and that it had a takeaway for the reader. Although it’s my story, it’s important that the reader can clearly grab a lesson out of it too. 

Fourth Step

And this really ain’t a step. It was just to make sure that I don’t go too hard on myself. It’s not perfect. I definitely plan to change the title and I’m still considering rewriting it and making it a letter to 19-year-old self instead of the personal essay that it is right now. It does its job now though, which is to get me one step closer to having the book completed. Once I gather all my chapters (ingredients), I’ll go back and season it to my liking. 

Here it is:

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The Hardest Part of My Life

It started with Hurricane Katrina in August of 2005. 

 

I was 17 years old, five months pregnant, just starting college in Savannah, and my mom had put me out. I went to stay with my son’s father and his family. Everything was good until the doorbell rung one afternoon. 

 

I went to answer the door. Once I saw who it was, I slammed the door shut. Before I’d gotten pregnant, I cheated on my son’s dad. I knew he wasn’t my son’s father and had never bothered to tell him about my pregnancy. He’d obviously started working for the electric company and had come by for something totally job-related.

 

When I opened the door, in a matter of two seconds, we recognized one another, he saw my belly, I saw the questions in his face, and slammed the door. He rung the doorbell again and CJ’s dad opened the door. They talked, we fussed, and I moved out. He asked for a paternity test after our son was delivered, which I had no problem with, and then we went on with our dysfunctional loving. 

 

About four months later, I found out that the was seeing someone else. Again, we were dysfunctional as hell, so I didn’t think too much of it. I raised hell, but I figured she’d come and go like the others. She didn’t. They fell in love, moved in together, and then she got pregnant. 

 

Of everything we’d ever been through, nothing had torn us apart, so I was so confused. I also felt rejected. I was mad and sad and I went through each of the five stages of grief, including denial and bargaining, some emotions more than once; some at the same time. I tried my damnedest to come between them, but it didn’t work. Her pregnancy forced me to accept that.

 

I moved back to New Orleans. 

 

I was running away from an energetically draining and toxic environment. Problem is, I took my same habits and some new beliefs with me. I no longer trusted people and I was extremely bitter. I’d also started drinking real heavy and, as I mentioned in Women Who Ain’t Afraid to Curse When Communicating with God, I smoked myself from a size six to a size zero. 

 

I fell out with my best friend, who I was room-mating with, and she left. I picked up a second job to help cover the expenses, and it only did the bare minimum. I’d pay my rent, but if I paid the whole light, water, and phone bill, then I wouldn’t have enough for gas or daycare. So I picked up a third job. That meant that I had to send my son back to Georgia because I didn’t have the time or energy to be there for him. So many nights, I’d lay in bed and just cry.

 

Then bad got worse.

 

During this time, I also had the habit of getting in relationships really fast. I needed to fill the voids. I didn’t have cable and barely had furniture, so my house was too empty and quiet for my liking. I was still heartbroken and I needed to know that I wasn’t the problem. The excitement of new relationships was the perfect distraction. Then as soon as the thrill was over, I was out of there.

 

One of those relationships landed me a few days in jails. I had a horrible temper during this time and take full responsibility for what happened that day. I had no problem verbally and physically lashing out on anyone. This time, he called the police on me. I wasn’t arrested, but we were given a court date. I didn’t show up. 

 

New Orleans is well-known for its road blocks, and when I got pulled over one day, I learned that it wouldn’t be the typical hold-up in my day. It wouldn’t just take away 15 minutes out of my day from having to wait until my turn to show my license and have a flashlight shun in my face. I’d be asked to step from my vehicle because I had an “attachment” (aka a warrant). 

 

Although my stepmom bailed me out the same day, I spent three days and four nights in a filthy hellhole called Orleans Parish Prison. Fellow inmates alerted me that the jail was paid per day per inmate, so they held you as long as they could. I swore that when I got out of there, I’d sue everything moving. But I didn’t.

 

Life had a few more lessons in store for me.

 

I was fired from my job as a CNA and ended up quitting my job at the diner. I was so bad at it, that it was only a matter of time before they let me go anyway. I was also juggling college during this time, and I let that go too. The few friends I had, I let ’em go. In retrospect, I was in a shedding cycle. I still have these phases and consider them critical to my peace of mind. 

 

What I’ve also learned about the shedding cycle, though, is that some of the releases won’t be voluntary. Sometimes it’s Spirit working on your behalf. That’s especially how I feel about losing my apartment. I held on for as long as I could with 32 teeth and 20 nails. I’d already swallowed my pride and sent my son to his dad. The goal was to get my shit together so that I could bring him back home. That didn’t happen.

 

There’s a scene in my debut novel, What the Devil Meant for Bad, where Shantelle goes to jail then comes home to an eviction notice. That’s where my facts presented itself as fiction. Unlike the book, however, I didn’t move in with a Glynnis. I moved into a teeny, tiny FEMA trailer with a man I barely knew. The goal was to get my shit together, so I could get my own place again and get my son back. 

 

I didn’t last.

 

I could only go so far with saying no to sex to this guy (whose name I don’t even remember). I wasn’t cleaning up. I wasn’t cooking. I wasn’t paying bills. With only one job and no friends, I spent most of my time lying down. And to his dismay, it wasn’t in his bed. I had to get out of there because it was only a matter of time before he put me out. 

 

My only choice was the last thing I wanted to do: tuck my tail and move back to Georgia.

 

What I realized about myself during this time, too, is that, whatever has the potential to spiritually destroy me, I have an amazing ability to adopt a mindset to overcome it. My dad called me the most two-steps-forward-and-four-steps-backward person he’d ever met. I found it hilarious though. Somewhere beneath all of the tragedy, I knew better was in store for me. I didn’t know how far off it was or what it looked like, but I knew it was out there for me. And I never let that go, to this day.

 

Although I was sleeping on a couch in a room that used to be mine, I didn’t trip. I didn’t try to get comfortable either. I did what I thought I needed to do to get back on my feet: I got a job, enrolled in school, and started studying my bible. This was my first attempt at trying really hard to be a good Christian. For a long time, I didn’t have a church. I did everything on my own, and it gave me the peace that I needed. 

 

I’d pray then I’d stretch out with my forehead to the floor in what I now recognize as child’s pose in yoga. That was meditation, the other half of communicating with Spirit. I’d talk to Jesus, then make space to hear what He had to say in return. Ultimately, religion didn’t work out for me. The same concerns I had growing up were still lingering, and no one could resolve them. For example, I didn’t understand how a God so big could be limited to one gender. I couldn’t see how Eve was created out of Adam’s rib. It didn’t make sense that they were kicked out of the garden for craving knowledge. Why was God so vindictive? And why were low-down dirty things allowed to happen?

 

I let go of what no longer served me and kept what did. 

 

I still do and, if you ask me, that’s the answer to all of our problems. Whenever there’s conflict or distress, something needs to be let go and/or something needs to be accepted. With infinite access to Spirit, we’re surrounded with love and resources. That sounds so religious, but it’s not, especially when you’re considering dabbling in something out of your lane and Spirit tells you to “leave that shit alone.” It’s just real. 

 

Life is real. In all of its horror, it still manages to be amazing. The key to accessing the beautiful parts of living, and experiencing more of them, is using your experiences to strengthen your commitment to yourself. As crazy as this period of my life was, I learned so much about myself. You never know how strong you are until you have to be, and I’m past convinced of my strength and resiliency. I got this. 

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Feel free to comment below to let me know what you think. And if you’re writing a book right now too, chime in and let me know how it’s going.

Note: This is how my Call-to-Copy service works. I record the phone conversation with my client, transcribe it, and then go back and clean it up, move some stuff around, add to it a little bit, and make it an enjoyable read according to the client’s goals for their story.