Over the years Lives Lived has gone through so many changes and now, as I look at the novel once again, I think I might return to the initial structure. I am fascinated with the way we leave lives behind. The Melanie of today would not recognize the person I was ten years ago. I morph into different mindsets, philosophies and ideas without apology. This is who I am, for now. If I choose to make a change, I will. No excuses, explanations or permission required. All of the stories I’ve begun over the past few years have been about women who lived secret lives that come back to haunt them. The past can be a great learning tool but I don’t feel we owe the past anything. Lives Lived is a construction of this thought process. Gabrielle leaves an entire life behind and begins to live in the present. She gets married and moves on with her life without ever looking back. Then one day, the past comes back to haunt her, and the stories she never told her husband become objects of suspicion. You can always start a new life, but one day, you might have to answer to the life you left behind. Or, maybe you don’t. Do you have to acknowledge the past when it comes back to haunt you?

This is the central question of Lives Lived. Do you have to pay dues to what sustained you before you moved on and became a new person? Depends on whom you ask. Some people define themselves by the past. They hold on to labels handed down to them by society or their parents and use those to construct their identity. Others have trouble using those sources for identification purposes, so they have to go on their own. If you don't have roots, or if your roots are rotten, you construct your own identity. You can be whomever you choose to be. Imagine the possibilities.

Lives Lived was written backwards. I began in the present day and wrote the past after the characters were firmly planted in their current lives. I guess somewhere in the back of my mind, I was thinking, there must be more to this story. And there was, a lot more. However, just because my brain works backwards doesn’t mean that the narrative needs to be in the order it came to me.

Here is my dilemma. Lives Lived is a novel written in sections. Each section could stand as a short story of its own for the most part. I don’t know what type of novel does that, or if this is a viable form of novel writing, but I truly feel like Lives Lived, the way it is told in sections, can stand as a novel. It will be different from what we are used to but I’ve never been afraid of being different. In fact, I’ve never known any other way to be. So, I think I’m moving forward with Lives Lived the way I planned it years ago. My first mind is overwhelmingly right and I think its time to trust that little voice inside. There is a way to package Lives Lived. I just have to figure out what the package looks like. How do I tell this story in a way that doesn’t confuse the reader? Last night, as I was leaving work, a friend yelled out, “Don’t give up on your writing! November isn’t over yet.” He’s right. November isn’t over yet and there is still plenty of time to put things in order and make them right. I think, as crazy as this might sound, I will be going back to the original form I’d chosen for Lives Lived long ago.

I stayed up until about three this morning staring at the printed pages spread across my bed. I can’t say I did very much with them but my mind was clicking through different scenarios and situations, trying to find the right order. This morning my eyes opened around 6 and my first thought was, “How does it go?” The manuscript lay in pieces and parts beside me. I lay there motionless for a few hours thinking about what the novel means. Around 11, five hours after I first woke up, I grabbed a pair of scissors and began cutting. Before noon I had cut the novel into parts and arranged it the same way it was years ago. It wasn’t something I did consciously. After I was done, I realized that this as exactly how the novel was initially. I don’t even remember what made me change it. It’s November 29th and I’m calling it done. Not done, done but done. Done enough to start the read through. This might be a story worth telling straight. I don’t know that it needs all those clever literary tricks and devices. I think the narrative speaks for itself. It’s 1:21 in the afternoon. I’ve got three solid hours I can dedicate to reading. Let’s see how Lives Lived reads in its new form.