WHAT READING GREAT BOOKS DID TO ME. IT TOLD ME THAT...
MY STORIES ARE WORTH TELLING.
This is so simple, and yet it has eluded me. Because of my fears. I thought it would come from just writing, but no, I felt it stronger and stronger assert itself after each book I read. There is a magic to it. It makes you weightless.
On May 15th it will be exactly 3 years since I started writing full time. It was the day I started working on the first draft of Siren Suicides. The concept for it has hatched years earlier, and I started and stopped working on it several times before on May 15th I finally decided to give it a try.
I'm thinking here...if 3 years got me to the place of believing in myself as a writer, where will 10 years get me? 20? 30? Surely I have 30 more years of life in me? I hope so. I don't know. I might die tomorrow. Life is cruel this way.
But I don't care. This odd new carelessness is making me foolishly happy. It's like it doesn't matter anymore what people will think or say. I will write the stories I want to write and they will be read because they are worth it. It floors me, this feeling. With it came new unexpected freedoms. I used to obsess over social media. What to post, where, when, how often, blah-blah-blah. Not anymore. The conniptions are gone. I'm as calm as a fucking penguin sitting on an egg and waiting for it to crack in the middle of a raging blizzard. Nothing bothers me. Well, I'd be lying if I said nothing ever bothers me. Things still do, but so little, they hardly touch me.
I want to thank all those authors who helped me get here. I know most likely none of them will read this post, but that is not the point. I am shouting it to the universe and I know the universe will deliver the message.
THANK YOU FOR SHOWING ME THE WAY.
THANK YOU FOR HOLDING MY HAND.
THANK YOU FOR TELLING ME WITH YOUR STORIES THAT I CAN DO IT TOO.
Full post here.
(Image by Eugenia Loli.)