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Hi there, I hope you’re safe & well!
I’ve been writing here and there for as long as I can remember, but only taking it seriously in the last couple years. It started out the usual way. Pieces of paper thoroughly scribbled upon, plots mashed together from the inner-workings of a young mind, pages pressed together with staples or tape or glue.
Then I got my hands on a computer, and all bets were off. I pecked like a chicken until that gave way to furious fingers dancing across the keyboard, almost as if my fingertips were the ones telling the story and I was merely a bystander. I knit stories together, wove personalities and desires, painted a world with my mind. I showed my work to a friend. She didn’t appreciate the mastery of my twelve year old imagination.
Then I stopped.
Sure, I wrote emails and school papers. I texted and posted my woes on social media like all good teenagers do. I grew up and my creativity was pushed to the back of my mind. Something less important than the tasks of impending adulthood piling before me.
I went to college. I got married. I looked up and seven years had passed me by. Ten. Another amount of time that shall go unnamed. When did I lose myself?
To be fair, I had never been taught to put myself first. Being raised the way I was raised will do that to you. I know that’s vague, but bear with me. When you’re raised in survival mode, you have no idea what it means to truly LIVE.
Learning how to live–how to thrive–has been quite a journey for me. A long one. And part of that was re-discovering this love of written word. I remembered what it felt like to dive into a book, to get wrapped up in another world. I felt this pull to write.
I procrastinated. What if I couldn’t do it? What if I was bad? What if no one liked it? What if I never sold any copies?
What if I was a success?
I’m still learning. Not just about the writing process, but about life as a whole. But if I can share one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: who cares what anyone else thinks?