Sersiona the Woodland Nymph

A few months ago I was digging through my old journals and writings, and I came across a long forgotten story I had written for my own pleasure during my early teenage years. Looking at the picture I drew of the character in this story, I'm guessing I was thirteen or fourteen at the time. I didn't read the story when I unearthed it months ago; I brought it in from the garage and put it in a pile of "things to read." Today I remembered the story and dug through a stack of papers on my desk to find it.

When I read it I was shocked.

This story--one I dreamt up twenty years ago--is amazingly similar to the story I am writing now. I seriously couldn't believe it. The Rowaness in my current story and her yearnings are very close to Sersiona's. It's mind-boggling to me that this story has lain dormant in my mind all these years, and that I've recovered it without even realizing what I was doing. This makes me realize how special my story is to me; that it's one I've been waiting most of my life to fully tell.

While there are many things my Rowaness and Sersiona have in common, there's one thing I'm grateful they don't: that crazy name. What was I thinking?!!

So without further ado, here is my short story, Sersiona. The corniness and melodramatic romance make me laugh, but all in all, I'm pretty pleased with what my younger self was able to write. (Click on each page to view larger.)

How My Book Was Born

With my brother, Matt, before the transplant

On April 17, 2009 I donated a kidney to my older brother, Matt. It was a decision I felt fiercely right about, but that did not mean the actual donation and the recovery process were easy. The pain was unimaginable, but my emotional recovery was the most difficult. I think I'll spend the rest of my life recovering, and I would have it no other way. I cry easier, laugh harder, give more, rest less. Life is harder now, but more beautiful.

I tried to write about my experience donating the kidney--tried to write the chronology and my feelings--but it was too emotionally painful. But then one-and-a-half years ago I was given a gift: an idea for a fictional story popped into my mind--the story of a nameless, beautiful tree nymph who cannot tangibly feel anything. In a twist of fate, her senses awaken, and she discovers what it means to be mortal and fall in love. Somehow the true story I cannot write has found a voice with my "Rowaness" tree nymph. The plot line of her story and my own don't align in any manner, but the yearning for a meaningful existence and for the beauty of life--no matter the suffering--is the same.

Part of my soul I gifted to my brother two years ago. Another part is in this story.