The Wind Knows My Name
29 Jan 2025 - Wednesday
Great Grandfather, Andrew
(front outside Chicago trolly)
“ I was not lost—I was being led. Abandoned by one history, I was claimed by another. The blood of my ancestors was a map, and Maine was always the destination written in my soul."
I am currently working on a novel based in part on my personal life experiences. Writing this book has been an emotional and transformative experience—one that has redefined my understanding of identity, resilience, and the invisible threads that connect us to our past. What started as a personal journey has evolved into something far greater: a rediscovery of where I come from and, in many ways, who I am.
In tracing the steps of my great-great-grandfather—a man I never knew existed—I’ve uncovered a story that feels both foreign and deeply familiar. "From the bustling streets of Southside Chicago to the rugged coast of Maine," our paths are interwoven in ways I never imagined. He walked streets I now call home, breathed the same salty air that fills my lungs. Through his story, I find echoes of my own struggles, triumphs, and spirit.
There’s something deeply healing about this process, something grounding. In peeling back the layers of history, I’ve come to see my life not as an isolated experience, but as part of a larger, ongoing story. This discovery has been more than historical curiosity—it has been a salve for the parts of me that once felt untethered.
This book is as much about my ancestors as it is about the universal longing for belonging. It’s about the power of lineage, the strength of resilience, and the beauty of uncovering pieces of yourself in the most unexpected places. More than anything, it’s a testament to the idea that "some connections are indeed written in the stars."
As I continue writing, I find myself more connected—not just to my ancestors, but to myself. And perhaps that’s the greatest discovery of all.
Stay tuned as I share more pieces of this journey. If you've ever wondered about the stories hidden in your own roots, I hope my words encourage you to start digging—you never know what you might find.
~ Lisa
Writing, Wandering, and Wondering
February 12, 2025 - Wednesday
“Ultimately, what matters is the commitment to continue— writing is not just what I do; it’s where I discover meaning, purpose, and the deepest parts of myself.”
When I first envisioned writing a novel, I imagined an idealized version of the process—waking up early, sipping coffee in a cozy nook, and effortlessly typing away as words poured onto the page. In reality? My writing routine is a mix of structure, unpredictability, and sheer willpower. Some days, the words flow with ease. Other days, I stare blankly at my screen, rereading the same sentence over and over, questioning my entire existence and wondering if I should take up knitting instead.
But through trial and error, I’ve discovered a rhythm—a routine that, while far from conventional, keeps me moving forward. Here’s what a good writing day looks like for me (because, let’s be honest, the bad ones deserve their own post).
Mornings, Coffee, and Four Golden Retrievers
I’m most productive in the early hours of the morning—when darkness still lingers over the Maine woods outside my house. But before I even think about writing, my day begins with love and cookies for my four Golden Retrievers: Dandelion, Seamus, Stormy, and Alfred. Then comes coffee. Lots of coffee.
As I sip my first cup, I tell myself I should dive straight into writing. Instead, I get caught up in emails, check messages, or convince myself that reorganizing my desk is an essential part of the creative process. I might even tackle random tasks from my to-do list, anything to delay the inevitable.
Easing Into the Writing Process
After realizing I’ve spent 45 minutes doing everything except writing, I force myself to focus. But even then, I don’t immediately start drafting. Instead, I ease into it by rereading what I wrote the day before. This accomplishes two things:
It helps me remember where I left off.
It tricks my brain into believing I’m making progress (even when I’m mostly just editing).
Mostly the latter.
By the time I’m on my second cup of coffee, I finally start writing. Some days, it’s just a few hundred words; on really good days, it’s a few thousand. But I try not to obsess over word count, because progress isn’t always about numbers—it’s about consistency. I don’t write all day, or even every day, but I do write most days. And sometimes, writing means deleting paragraphs that aren’t working. Other times, it’s about deepening a scene’s emotional impact instead of rushing through it. On occasion, it’s simply capturing an idea or experience that might later weave its way into my story.
The Art of Taking Breaks
Writing is mentally exhausting, and I’ve learned that stepping away is often the best thing I can do. My breaks involve grabbing a snack, or going down an unnecessary research rabbit hole (because suddenly, I need to know what Chicago streetcars looked like in 1900).
Then there are the days when I sit at my desk, convinced my novel is a disaster, wondering why I ever thought I could write in the first place. Self-doubt is a constant companion in my writing process, but I’ve learned to expect it and push through. When I hit a wall, I do something to shift my mindset—sometimes by rereading a section I actually like, just to remind myself that I can write. Other times, I step away completely—watching a show, painting, drawing, or doing anything unrelated to writing. More often than not, taking a break allows me to return with a clearer mind.
The Key to Writing: Showing Up
What matters isn’t having a perfect routine—it’s showing up, even when it’s hard. It’s finding joy in the process, even on the days when every sentence feels like a battle. And, most importantly, it’s understanding that every word I write brings me one step closer to telling the story I was meant to tell.
Final Thoughts
If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that there is no “right” way to write a book. Some writers wake up at 5 AM and power through hours of writing before the world stirs—that’s how I work best. Others embrace a process that’s part discipline, part chaos, and completely fueled by caffeine—also me. Ultimately, what matters is the commitment to continue—the quiet resolve to return to the page, even when doubt lingers and inspiration wanes. Because even on the hardest days, writing is not just what I do; it’s where I discover meaning, purpose, and the deepest parts of myself.