Writing My First Novel Is Calling My Bluff

I think I’m writing a book. But really, I’ve walked straight into a staring contest with every lie I’ve ever told myself.

Lies like:

• I’m not creative enough, patient enough, or smart enough to write

  fiction.

• I don't have the bandwidth for any big projects right now.

• I can't have what I really want.

But the story hasn’t exposed me. It’s revealing me.

I’ve been grieving in different ways as I write because of how much I’m having to confront.

Every time I sit down, I have to decide what matters. What feels true.

And with each decision, I chip away at the parts of me I’ve been hiding behind: perfectionism, self-doubt, and old roles that no longer fit.

Characters start voicing fears I didn’t realize I’ve been carrying.

Themes show up that hit a little too close to home.

And I realize this story isn’t just fiction.

It’s a blueprint of who I’ve been, who I’m becoming, and who I might finally be brave enough to be.

Writing this novel doesn’t just test my ability to write.

It tests the stories I’ve believed about myself.

And some of those stories?

They’re long overdue for a rewrite.

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The novel I’m referring to is Agatha’s Garden.

Description: Imagine plants that respond to your emotions. Including the ones you deny yourself. What if gardening these plants helped a neurodivergent man heal some deep wounds? That's the story of "Agatha's Garden".