It took three long years to write the first draft. Through it, I struggled with the structure and how to end it. Lengthened it, changed the title, and changed the intent of the book.
Meant to be a self-help book, A Ronin’s Journey really showcases my tortured journey over 17 months. I read the first three chapters and opened up old wounds; my editors could only edit it in pieces because they’re so raw. I wondered if I should tame it down even further, possibly changing it into fiction.
I can’t believe that it’s true sometimes, either.
The shock of the event scarred everyone. The anxiety, paranoia, fear, grief, and just trying to cope filled the first six weeks. I write this conclusion days before the three-year mark, and I wonder, who wasn’t scarred in that horror?
“Never again” became my attitude. It didn’t matter where I was; I was the self-appointed guardian. Inside, a boiling cauldron of self-hatred steamed. The thought was redemption through saving others. Life is fragile and prec…
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