Covid, what a life-changing word. That bastard took from us loved ones, jobs, security, freedom, and my desire to write. So, my pledge for the rest of 2021 is to get back to what I love and to get over the paralyzing fear that my word bank is empty.
It’s been close to 2 years since I’ve written anything. At this point, can I call myself a writer? That is hard to admit to myself. I wish I had it in me, like most of my author friends, that took advantage of lockdown to put words on paper. (The lockdown 20 is real.) Instead, I let the darkness consume me in my PJs and messy bun. No more, except for the messy bun. I think I can pull it off well.
I’m just over 110 words into this blog. That’s the most I’ve written for a very long time. The writer inside me isn’t dead, which is encouraging. Shall we rediscover her together? Are you willing to join me on my journey?
Not many people get second chances. Sure, this might be a self-imposed one, but recovery starts somewhere. If the pandemic taught me anything, it’s that there are no moments to be wasted. I need to relearn my craft and come out the other side better. This indie author is on the road to her dreams of being traditionally published. And I’ve decided to invite you along to witness all the bumps and bruises I get along the way.
Step one, I’m removing all of my indie-published books from Amazon. I’m no longer the girl that wrote those. And to be honest, they were some of my first stories and shouldn’t have been put out there for the universe to judge. The stories and the writer weren’t ready yet. Classes and practice, that’s what it’s going to take to get where I want to go. Let’s talk about that in the next blog.
It’s a scary thing to put yourself out there. If you have any encouraging words for me, don’t hesitate to share them. Love you! Write on.