When I first started this blog in 2011 it was because I was afraid of losing my creative light to the darkness. I also thought that if I was afraid then there must be other writers who shared the same fears and maybe I could somehow be inspirational.
I had no plan to be a successful blogger, which is obvious, and I utilized this space to have fun, build momentum, and to keep my sanity (as best a non-writing writer can).
One day I stopped. I finally gave into my darkness and stopped writing. Stopped writing in the sense that I could no longer fight the constant barrage of messaging:
Grow up. [eye roll]
You love writing more than your family.
I don’t get why you waste your time.
You’re not a real writer.
Sure, it’s funny, but what’s the point?
You only wrote seven pages in three hours?
You’re 40, maybe it’s time for a new hobby.
The outer world was now harmonizing with my already powerful inner head talk and I needed to turn off the volume. I’ve been insecure about writing my entire life. I’ve struggle with the craft, I can’t get my thoughts onto the page fast enough, and I sacrifice my needs to help others then use it as an excuse for my own lack of discipline.
When I started this blog, I was married with young children. I lost my job and took on the role of Stay-At-Home-Parent. My neighborhood was on a rapid decline and I rarely slept a full night, as I was constantly worrying about money, my parenting mistakes, and losing the last thread of my dreams.
I would sneak out of bed, sit in the empty bathtub and write my worries away through this blog.
Reading through my old posts has been like opening a time capsule. A blast of hot and cold memories and an eerie reminder that time keeps moving, whether we do or not.
Keep writing…





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