Hello, old friend

On writing around and alongside the trauma...

On this grey, cool, early November day, days after the time change when time is as it’s meant to be, I’ve decided this is as good a time as any. As it’s been over two-and-a-half years since I’ve written here, it’s probably best to just dive in. We’re closing in on a decade since I’ve published a novel, The Broken Ones (Jesus Freaks #3). Since then, I married the absolute love of my life, bought the house we prayed fervently for, was elected to local government, began graduate school online, endured a pandemic alongside homeschooling my kids and my own graduate program, completed graduate school, traveled near and far, weathered family crises, personal and marital ups and downs, and am now shepherding three kids through high school. Yes, I have three high schoolers. One senior, and two sophomores. Twins, for those new here.

I’ll write about this more extensively in the future, but teenagers really can be the best. The absolute crown jewel of those long, hard infant-toddler-elementary years. Middle school is hell, and is a topic unto itself.

While it has been longer than I like admitting since I published, in the past ten years I’ve written tons. Gobs. Heaps. Volumes. Three whole, unfinished drafts of the fourth installment of Jesus Freaks, two-and-a-half years of graduate theology writing (many, many books worth), what feels like a million social media posts and comments, countless emails, probably several million text messages, and three-quarters of a stand alone novel I cannot WAIT to complete.

All this to say, I have been writing. I need to remind myself of that, because if I look only at my published work it would suggest a decade without words, and I’m fairly certain that would have killed me by now. However, creativity is part of my therapeutic process, and as I’m endeavoring on a post traumatic growth group with my therapist and a few other women, I knew I needed to just put my butt in my chair and write. To feel narrative fiction or non-fiction tumble from my fingertips, words tripping over one another to get out. To hear the clack of the keyboard that massages a part of my brain only reached by such clacking. To connect with a part of myself that has felt cast aside, banished by the trauma and upset over the last few years.

I might write about what brought me to the aforementioned post traumatic growth group at some point, but I’ve reached the conclusion that, at least this time, with this trauma, I can’t write myself out of it by writing about it. I need to write around and alongside it. It’s captured too much of my attention for too long.

My goal now is to write something here every day. (Maybe a couple times a day? Who’s to say?). It might be something that’s a paragraph or two—something that may have otherwise counted as a Facebook status update, or it could be longer. Like this, or even longer. Probably longer because I’m wordy. While the name is Curious Theologian, you’ll either be bummed or relieved to know that this will not only be about theology, though that will seep in and sometimes be the focal point. I am curious. I am technically a theologian with an M.Div. So, here we find ourselves.

Just about everything on here will be free to read, though paid content will slide in from time to time. In advance, I thank everyone who will buy those articles.

Until next time,

andrea