It is every writer’s goal, I imagine, to bundle words together in an invitation for readers to think and feel. The bees in my chest stir. These six small words instantly invoked a visceral relatable image in my mind—they made me think and feel.

In Writers & Lovers, by Lily King, the principal character could have expressed any number of feelings with more exact words. I’m scared, I’m nervous, I’m excited. Instead, with this one great line, I imagined the character’s sensation of bees swarming inside her. And then, the stirrings in my own chest reminded me of what I care about, what I fear and what I love.

Quiet Bees

There’s been more time than usual between my posts, and that’s not because I’ve stopped reading. I’ve read more books in December than any other month this year (8 of 59, according to my goodreads.com 2020 reading challenge). But somewhere in mid-December, I stopped being inspired, and it’s been difficult to find the heart to write. 

Stirring Bees

Yet, this great line keeps finding a place in my mind. What has made the bees in my chest stir in the last few months? Many things—funny, sad, scary and exciting:

My uncle suffered from COVID-19 for way too many days in the hospital—and survived. Bees agitated in disbelief and worry every time I spoke to my aunt and my father.

A police officer stopped my daughter for the first time. She wasn’t doing anything wrong and didn’t know to pull over to the right when sirens flash behind her, so when she sped up and made the turn to reach her destination, the officer followed her, cut her off and demanded she get out of the car. He wasn’t wearing a mask. My daughter asked if she could reach for hers. He apologized for yelling at her when he let her go with a stern warning. My bees buzzed with fear and “what if’s” when I heard the story the next day. 

My son’s heartbreak reminded me of my own when I was younger. There’s no way around it. If you want to love and be loved, you go through it, I counseled. As a parent, though, immeasurable bees swirled in my chest as I watched my child stuck in the quicksand of it.

Rejection after rejection of my submitted novel to agents. Every time I get an email, tiny wings flap in wild anticipation of a positive response. They slow to a murmur at each, “There’s so much here to like, but…” response.

Acceptance of an article for publishing—I twirled around the kitchen, happy bees dancing inside me. Finally, a step in the direction I’m throwing myself in.

Disoriented Bees

It’s been a strange and unique holiday season—hiding in the house, spending more time with my teenagers than they’ve ever wanted, and public mask wearing more the norm than I ever imagined when I started sewing them in March. There have been too many mornings, where I’ve lain in bed with no immediate need to get up, the meals shopped for and planned, there’s no job to get to, no writing to work on, and no reason to rouse the kids from their beds. 

So just a few days into our new year, one we all wish brings change and hope and health, I find the disoriented bees stirring in my chest an acknowledgement of the things that matter to me. I realize that I need to continue to search for my meaningful place in the world and embrace my opportunity to do so. The alternative to not doing so? Well, that’s bee stirring as well.

Thank you, Lily King, this is one great line.

If you can relate to this great line, I’d love to hear from you! Please scroll down and leave a comment.

If you’d like to read more about Writers & Lovers, click here.

If you’d like to read about me, and why I started this blog, click here.