Chris and me with our crew in Mexico
By ChatGpt
After our unforgettable adventure on the high seas, I had an idea that seemed perfect for a creative challenge: what if I could turn our real-life adventure into a young adult novel? It was a thrilling and intense experience, and I thought it might translate well into a story. I could imagine a young protagonist battling storms, navigating uncharted waters, and dealing with the kind of challenges that would make for an exciting plot.
So, I dove into the world of young adult literature. I read several adventure novels aimed at young readers to get a sense of pacing, tone, and character development. Inspired by these stories, I sat down and began writing. As I started recounting the details of our trip, I didn't just aim for an accurate retelling—I wanted to craft something that would speak to young minds, filled with the kind of adventure, fear, and triumph that many teenagers dream of experiencing.
In my writing, I imagined the thoughts and feelings of a young person trying to make sense of the vast ocean, the unpredictable weather, and the moments of personal doubt. As the pages turned, complications piled up, and twists of fate played their part, but the story came together into something I might call a novelette. It was short, perhaps, but it felt complete—at least, at that stage.
When I was done, I handed the manuscript over to my son. He read through it carefully, then gave me his feedback: "The protagonist is a wimp," he said bluntly. "You need stronger characters." Ouch. It stung, but I knew he was right. The main character lacked the kind of resilience that a true adventure demanded. Back to the drawing board.
Next, I passed the manuscript to a friend. He was more gentle in his critique, offering thoughtful suggestions and praise where it was due, but still pointing out areas where the narrative could be improved. I appreciated his feedback, but the story felt like it was still missing something—perhaps the depth of the characters, or maybe just the right emotional punch to make it stand out.
At this point, I decided to take a step further into the digital age. I thought, Why not ask ChatGPT for some advice? Surely the AI could help me fine-tune my ideas, offer some narrative directions, or give me insights into character development. So, I uploaded the outline and waited for the suggestions to come pouring in.
And pour in they did. I was given a veritable waterfall of options—plot twists, character arcs, conflicts, and even new settings I hadn't thought about. The problem was, there were so many possibilities that I felt overwhelmed. Every time I tried to hone in on one idea, I was presented with another that seemed equally enticing. It felt like trying to solve a puzzle where every piece seemed to fit, but only after rearranging everything fifty times.
The stress mounted, and the pressure to make the story perfect became more and more intense. My shoulders tensed up. My mind raced. And then, a thought occurred to me: Maybe this isn't my story to finish.
As much as I had invested in the project, as much as I had dreamed of creating something meaningful, I realized that sometimes the best thing you can do is to walk away. Let the story breathe on its own. Leave it for the next generation—my kids, my grandkids, or maybe even someone else who finds inspiration in those pages.
Ecclesiastes 3:1 reminds us, “For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven.” Sometimes, the season for creating is followed by the season for letting go. And that’s exactly what I decided to do. I’m putting the novel aside for now. Maybe one day, someone will pick it up, dust it off, and finish it. But for me, the season of writing has passed, and it’s time to move on to something new.
And that’s okay. In fact, it’s more than okay. It’s liberating.
So, to anyone else who’s caught in the pressure of perfection, remember: sometimes a project isn’t meant to be finished by you. Sometimes, it’s about the process, the learning, and the letting go. That’s where the real adventure lies.
As for the kids and grandkids? Maybe they’ll find inspiration in these pages one day.
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