Welcome back. It’s Day 22, and today we’re stepping straight into the ordeal, but first, there are two quick things I need to tell you.
Scheduling update
I’m really sorry for the change, but we’re going to reschedule the second livestream that was planned for today.
Instead, it will now take place on Saturday 31 January at 8pm (UK time).
The reason is that we had to say goodbye to our senior dog this week, and I’m not up for hosting a live session just yet. A few of you noticed something was off over the past couple of weeks and reached out to check in. That meant more than you know. Thank you.
What’s worked out well, though, is that 31 January is the final day of the challenge, which means we can use that live session as a true closing of this journey. I’ll open a form beforehand so you can submit questions in advance, and you’ll also be able to ask things live on the call.
Thank you for your understanding, and genuinely, thank you for being here. This space, and your engagement with your stories, has been a real support.
Time and energy
A couple of days ago, we opened a thread about struggle, and one thing that came up again and again was finding time.
That struggle never fully goes away. Even full-time, published authors wrestle with it. Writing asks for focus, vulnerability, and emotional presence, and those are not easy things to summon in a busy life.
One small experiment I want to offer you is this: Could you try getting up 30 minutes earlier for the next few days?
Just as a test it.
Inside the Academy, one of our challenges this year is called the hour earlier challenge, and it’s remarkable how much creative ground people reclaim simply by working before the rest of the world wakes up. If time has been your biggest obstacle, this is something to try before the challenge ends.
Where we are in the story
Now…the work.
Yesterday, we talked about the approach: that tightening moment where the hero senses something big is coming.
Today is the next step.
To reorient you:
In the ordinary world, the Hero’s belief worked; it protected them.
In the call and refusal, that belief was challenged.
Through the mentor and threshold, it was questioned but kept.
In the tests and trials, it was stress-tested.
In the approach, the Hero braced for what was coming.
Now we arrive at the moment where that belief no longer bends.
What the ordeal really is
The ordeal is not another test. It’s not a challenge the Hero overcomes.
This is where the belief finally fails.
This is the central crisis of the story—the moment of maximum danger, loss, or exposure. The Hero acts from the same want or flawed belief that carried them this far, and this time it costs them everything.
They lose because they refuse to change.
This failure feels irreversible. Emotionally, psychologically, or literally, it is catastrophic.
That’s why the ordeal always leads into what’s often called the dark night of the soul.
This doesn’t have to be huge or loud
The ordeal doesn’t need to be long or explosive.
Sometimes it’s a single moment, like the apparent loss at the end of Dodgeball, where everything seems over for just long enough for it to land.
Sometimes it’s a montage of collapse, like Cher’s emotional low point in Clueless. (You know: the foundation and Celine Dion’s ‘All by Myself’.)
Sometimes it’s a realisation that cannot be unseen.
For memoir and narrative non-fiction writers especially, this can be:
a confrontation
a devastating truth
a loss of identity
the moment an illusion shatters
What matters is not spectacle, but irreversibility.
Death and power
At the ordeal, something dies.
That might be:
a person
a relationship
a belief
an identity
the version of the Hero who thought they were enough as they were
This is also where the villain is at full strength. The temptation to stay the same is strongest, and the cost of change is highest. The villain almost wins…and sometimes wins briefly.
The aftermath should feel like shock, fallout, grief, and/or reckoning.
The ordeal does not fix anything; rather, it creates the conditions where change becomes unavoidable.
Your task today
I’m only asking you one question today.
In the comments, answer this:
What belief or person dies in your ordeal?
(Or, another way to put it: what version of your Hero dies here?)
I’ll open a reflection thread as well, and you’re welcome to talk there about struggle or about the ordeal itself. Naming difficulty reduces its grip—as Brené Brown reminds us, shame only survives in silence.
Thank you again for being here. Truly.
I’ll see you tomorrow for Day 23. And remember, our final live Q&A will be 31 January at 8pm (UK time).
Xx, Shelly
