How I Built This Book Novels & Stories

She stopped. Read it back. That was the book’s center. That was the thing she’d been writing toward for months. She wrote it again in her notebook, by hand, the way she wrote the things she needed to hold. Then she closed the document and sat for a moment in the spring morning light. She thought: the memoir was the building. The second book is the inhabiting. She thought: twenty-two years of building and I’m only now learning to inhabit. She thought: that’s right. That’s the right order.

“It doesn’t.” I drank my coffee and ate the toast that had appeared and let the kitchen sounds settle around me. Normal morning sounds. People belonging to a place and each other. I had built something like this in my apartment over two years. Me and Ria and the bookstore and the narrow comfortable life I had constructed out of nothing. This felt like the original. Like the copy had been a good copy but I was sitting in the source now and some part of me knew the difference. I hated how much I felt at home.

I had been working on my book, pouring my heart and soul into it, and I was eager to share it with him. "Hey," he said, smiling at me as he sat down beside me. "How's it going?" I took a deep breath, feeling a sense of trepidation. "I've been working on a book," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Derek's eyes lit up with interest. "A book?" he repeated. "That's amazing! What's it about?" I hesitated, feeling a sense of vulnerability. "It's about my journey," I said. "About my struggles with anxiety and depression, and how I've been working to heal and overcome them."

"That it becomes ordinary. That ordinary is what it was all for." I'd written it in October. The new chapter. Added to the end of the existing book like a room built onto a house that had always needed it and simply hadn't had it yet. I called it *What Remains.* --- The chapter began with Catherine. Not by design. I'd sat at the desk on a Tuesday morning intending to write about the foundation's expansion, about Isabella's practice, about Alex's building and Claudia's program and the accumulated evidence that what had been built was going to outlast everyone who had built it.

she stated. “I… I already have a book like that… it is for beginners…” “Can you do, what I did just now?” she asked using a serious tone. “No,” I admitted. “Then, don't argue!” she reprimanded me, “This book was created by the powerful witches that lived centuries ago. It won't simply tell you how to meditate, it will tell you how to search for an object among many rooms in the twenty-story building!” “Wow!” I gasped, “L-like an X-ray vision or something?!” I got overly excited.

“I’m reading about relationship building, and why it is important to communicate openly and honestly with each other.” “That sounds pretty interesting,” I answered, giving him a softer, more trying smile, while I looked at the cover of the book. “Is it an easy read?” A small smile spread across his lips as he looked down at the book. His long, white hair was tucked behind his ears, so that it was clear to see his long face with a strong jaw. “It can be a little dry.” “You should probably find one with pictures and models in it, then,” I smiled, leaning back on the bench. “That made it easier for me to get through the chapters when I went to school.”

I had been working on my book, pouring my heart and soul into it, and I was eager to share it with him. "Hey," he said, smiling at me as he sat down beside me. "How's it going?" I took a deep breath, feeling a sense of trepidation. "I've been working on a book," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Derek's eyes lit up with interest. "A book?" he repeated. "That's amazing! What's it about?" I hesitated, feeling a sense of vulnerability. "It's about my journey," I said. "About my struggles with anxiety and depression, and how I've been working to heal and overcome them."

If my dad knew one thing, it was designer. I gave her mine last. It’s like she knew it was going to be something meaningful. Everyone got quiet and watched her as she slowly unwrapped the huge book. I’d worked weeks on it. Ever since I’d gotten that picture of her parents .. it made me think she would appreciate something like this. It was a memory book of sorts. Kind of like a scrap book. I’d secretly asked Bridge to help me find the book itself. And she did not disappoint. She’d found it at some craft store and the thing was huge.

5 years to finally complete this book, and I’m overwhelmed with joy to be able to say that it is now finished. Writing this book has been one of the hardest and most rewarding experiences of my life. During the course of crafting this story, I faced some of the darkest and most difficult phases in my personal journey. Every chapter, every word, was part of my own catharsis, and it is with a full heart that I share this with you today.

“This is what she built. Not this book specifically. The argument the book is made from. The framework that became the institute that became the cases that became the legislation moving through committee toward becoming law. She built all of it. She just did not live to see it become what it was always going to become.” She set the book down. “My mother made the best meals from whatever was in the refrigerator. She said the best things were built from what was already there. Everything in this story was already there. The compound. The letters. The recordings. The clause in plain language. The sealed envelope. The safety deposit box. All of it already there, waiting for the right people to f