So. Writing is a funny thing. It is part listening to myself and part daring myself not to listen to myself.  I find that it is somewhat difficult to stretch and take the risk of telling the story I want to tell.  Sometimes, I remember the books I have read on the craft of writing – and I cringe because most times my writing breaks those rules.  Sometimes, I am ashamed because the things I want to write about are singly about emotion and loving and longing and romance – and well, sometimes people say smart women should know better.  Sometimes, I find it hard to tear myself away from the thoughts that want to be written down.

I suppose the way to be a powerful writer is to be true to the inner voice that seeks to speak. And I have written before how this is an act of courage.  But then it is also a question of what makes writing powerful.  The stories I enjoy going back to read are those that have touched my heart in some way.  I find that the stories that I write that have the potential to leave a mark often come from a place of vulnerability.  I guess I have to keep writing to get comfortable with the idea of remaining exposed – and letting people into the deep space where the most intimate of the stories I wish to tell dwell.

This is a simple, happy post.  You know, there is nothing as encouraging as sitting my butt down and clicking away on my keyboard.

There was a time when this was such a hardship. And all I felt was guilt about not being able to write.  The self doubt was also quite real – how ca I be a writer who doesn’t write?  I was also overwhelmed by my inability to give myself over to the thing I loved most.  And of course, my troubled mind is terribly unforgiving.

There’s a reason cliches exist – they are often true.  And well, the one about doing the thing that you are passionate about is right.  Doing the thing that fills me gives me the strength to do the adulting that I should do.

I celebrate the liberty to write because it feeds my soul.  There is a lot I have to do that I must do… and this craft that I long to master like no other, fills me up for the long road that I must travel.

There is nothing as encouraging as watching a writer about their business.

Writers, in my opinion, have great heart.

I was so inspired yesterday by a writer who expressed so clearly the struggle to maintain a discipline – to find inspiration – to be interesting – to follow rules – to break them just at the right moment – to inject mystery and drama – to give the reader everything they did not know they needed in their imagination.

Most of all, writers are brave because they let you into their psyche, share themselves, and then let you project your view of reality and imagination into a story that they never imagined would be interpreted as it is.

I long for the day when I will be brave enough to claim myself a writer without the slightest hesitation.

So one of the things that I am enjoying is listening to my heart.

This is not as easy as it sounds.  It seems like the older I get, the more aware I am of the things that I think I should do or should have done or should plan to do… and on and on and on it goes. With all these noises in my head, it is really a pleasure when I can hear the little voice that expresses my true desires.  It’s an even greater pleasure when I can do the things that I really want to do.

Lately, it’s taken courage to sit down and write. I am acutely aware of how important it is to me that I do this.  I have been vocal about sharing my dream – and it’s scary because now people know! And what’s worse is that I am afraid that I will fail – and when people as me about the dream, I won’t be able to say much.  But on the other side of this courage and fear is true satisfaction.  I know that writing fills a space in my soul that needs these words and this imagination to be ignited.  It’s a little embarrassing, to be honest, for me to admit this so publicly.  But I am so proud of myself because I feel like my soul is stretching. And with every lengthening of these crouched muscles, I move closer and closer to uncovering who I really am.