Bitterblue (Graceling Realm, #3)

by Kristin Cashore

He reached his arm out and pulled her in, hugging her tight, centering her around herself again with his embrace.

“It is not the job of a child to protect her mother. It’s the mother’s job to protect the child. By allowing your mother to protect you, you gave her a gift. Do you understand me?”

I imagine my self-doubt/hopelessness/discouragement as this guy who sits next to me in my chair as I’m writing. He’s always there. He is a necessary part of the process; he will never go away; so I may as well invite him to sit in a chair beside me. Sometimes I imagine myself giving him a hug, because he’s so sad and pathetic; he has nothing nice to say to me, he only knows how to insult and discourage; he is, essentially, fear. Poor, sad little guy. I say to him, “You can sit in my company, you can say whatever it is you need to say. I know you can’t help yourself. I know you’re so very scared. So: you are welcome here. But,” I say to him, “you’re not going to stop me from writing today.”