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This journal is fiction. The voice you’re reading is a character, not the author. |
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Reader Note This journal is a work of fiction written from the perspective of a character who has survived significant trauma. While the experience itself is acknowledged, this journal does not describe acts of violence or provide graphic or sensational details. The focus is on emotional aftermath rather than events. If you are sensitive to depictions of violence or trauma, this journal is written with care and restraint. Sam’s Journal of Survival This journal is about a story I have been trying to be brave enough to tell for a very long time. I’ve written versions of it as short stories over the years, but I’ve never quite reached the place where I could tell it with clear emotional truth. This journal is my way of approaching that story in small, careful steps, with the hope that I may finally arrive at a version that feels real and honest. If this were a book, I would call it Costs of a Second Chance. It is a psychological thriller about a successful woman whose life is permanently altered after escaping a kidnapping, and whose fragile sense of safety is shattered again when her captor is released. But more than that, it is a story about what happens after. It explores the real cost of survival, the long shadow of trauma, and the truth that second chances are not always gifts. Sometimes, they are burdens we must learn how to carry. This is not a story about rescue or triumph. It is about living with what remains. The suspense of what happened matters, but the heart of this project lives in the quiet, interior spaces that follow. Survival is not just about being alive. It is about learning how to exist in the aftermath. I am choosing a journal format because right now the craft is not what’s missing. Access is. A journal removes the pressure to perform. It allows emotional truth without demanding structural perfection. It gives permission to circle, repeat, and even contradict. It mirrors how trauma actually surfaces: unevenly, sideways, and in fragments. I don’t need to fully immerse all at once. In fact, forcing immersion is often what shuts emotion down. A journal lets me approach the story obliquely, which is often the only way honesty shows up. How I’m using this journal 1. I will write in first person, present or near-past. When I use “I,” it is Sam speaking. This will not be polished or lyrical on purpose. It should sound like thinking. 2. Entries will be short. A page. Half a page. Sometimes only a paragraph. I will stop before it becomes too heavy. 3. I will focus on reaction, not plot. Instead of “what happened,” I will ask: • What did I avoid thinking about today? • What did my body do before my mind caught up? • What surprised me about my reaction? 4. I will allow inconsistency. Journal Sam may contradict story Sam. That isn’t a flaw. It’s information. 5. This journal is scaffolding, not canon. I am mining emotion, not publishing a finished narrative. Later, I may extract what belongs in the book and discard the rest. A journal allows me to wade in rather than dive. WDC feels like the right place for this process because it offers gentle accountability, allows unfinished work to exist in public, and normalizes iteration and growth. This may not become the story. But I believe it will help me find the story. For now, this journal is a doorway. I’m stepping into the character’s shoes and seeing where she leads me. This journal is fiction. The voice you’re reading is a character, not the author. |
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