It’s all about what you know. Writing, that is. But that’s not how my brain works. I write to write. To see words on the page that reflect the turmoil or the beauty within my mind. I write from imagination. From make-believe. The love of words and images that crowd within my brain can seem overwhelming at times. But still I cling to the hope that one day I too shall see my name in print. No riches do I seek. Okay, enough to pay the bills and allow the pleasure to work from the comfort of my own home. That would definitely be ideal.
Sometimes the frustration of work gets in the way. I often use the excuse that I’m too tired to write. That is bullshit because I had no problem last November for the 30 days of writing for NaNoWriMo. Okay, I think that’s how it’s written. So I was well on my way, every day, with keeping up with the daily word count. Many days I went over and I wasn’t tired at all! So what’s really going on here?
Fear? This is something I’ve written about before. Silly, irrational fear of failure. I hate it. I hate allowing the fear to tie my hands. To keep me from what I am doing at this very moment. Typing words. Just flows so naturally for me. It is a blessing and a gift. So here I go again, another year of a writing challenge. Here’s to kicking fear in its ass, and never allowing it to return. Here’s to a love that never dies and a thirst that cannot be quenched. Here’s to the age-old, beloved art of writing. I am back.