I can tell you with absolute certainty that it ends exactly as it’s supposed to. It doesn’t have a fairy tale ending, but every character does find happiness. It has everything to do with the human spirit and sacrifice and love that knows no bounds.ĭoes it have a happy ending? Yes, I believe so. That statement has nothing to do with me. I cried almost every day while writing it. It is a story I believe any woman will be able to appreciate and relate to. Of the people who have read it thus far, several have called it “the ultimate love story.” And, the odd thing is, none of them know each other. It is the most romantic book I’ve ever written. The answer to all of those questions is YES! Is it a romance? Is it women’s fiction? Is it sad? Does it have a happy ending?
I’ve been asked countless times in the last few days what kind of book The Empty Jar is. Now, looking at the finished product of this book, I know I’ve accomplished both. But also, on some level, I knew I had some grief to work through. I wanted so much to write something he’d be proud of. I credit the combination of God (whom I give credit for all my inspiration) and my father. I knew within a day that those words were going to leave they’re mark on me, that they’d change the way I look at everything. I went to sleep thinking about her and the first thing I did after downing a cup of coffee the next morning was write the first three chapters. It was tragic and gorgeous and I knew I had to write it. She didn’t have a name yet, but I immediately knew her story. But then, out of the darkness of my bedroom, out of the quiet of the midnight hour, came a woman. Or, at that point, to even be able to write at all. I was lying in bed one night, thinking about work and how I wanted to write something different, something that matters. I needed to drown in something else, something less… real. I needed to be able to throw myself into something, anything, heart and soul, as I coped with my real life. On top of that, I was trying not to freak out over the fact that I couldn’t write. The one thing I can say about grief is that it has to be experienced, no matter how diligently you put it off. I just avoided the pain as much as I could. I avoided talking about it unless I had to, I avoided thinking about it if I had any other choice.
And that’s exactly how I felt–like I was constantly trying not to fall in and drown. It’s like a pothole that you find yourself carefully tiptoeing around so that you don’t fall in and drown.
It’s odd how the loss of someone you’re close to leaves this gap in your life. I was struggling to deal with his passing, worrying about my mother and her health, and trying to figure out a way forward that didn’t include crying every day. I just realized that the last time I wrote on my blog was after my father’s death.
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