Hello Old Friend

I’m writing again. After six years, of staring at blank pages, or correction, starting and stopping snippets, only to do the equivalent of ripping a page out of a notebook, crumpling it, and tossing in the wastebasket, which is to close the document without saving it, I’m writing. It’s not nearly as satisfying as angrily fisting a piece of paper if I’m being honest, but “save the planet” and stuff, right? Regardless, I’m plotting again, and planning, and doing the things that I did when I wrote for eight hours a day. I miss those days of just typing as fast as I could and losing hours while I created a world in which a geeky clumsy girl could fall in love with a brooding dark-haired boy who played guitar. Writing is my escape, much like reading and bingeing series on Netflix is.

(Gawd, if only I could get paid to watch Netflix.– Or even paid by Netflix for writing, Like seriously: Nextflix, The Butterfly Chronicles could be your next huge hit. Hit me up. For real!)

But the point is, I’m doing it; I’m writing. I still don’t have my degree, yet, which was a significant reason why I stopped writing. It was something that I felt insecure about with my writing. But life, as they say, has a way of happening. What they don’t say is it has a way of knocking you on your ass and pushing you off of a cliff, so you find yourself tumbling down a hill which hits your head every few rotations of the tumble, only to have a tree that loosened from your fall land on top of you. Yep, that about explains my past five years it in a nutshell. Maybe my next project will be non-fiction about my recent life journey. Regardless, I have decided I can’t live my life out of fear of rejection, even though that terrifies me. I can’t live in this weird place of worrying about what others think and worrying that the completion of my series will not be perfect.

But here’s the thing; I think I just figured out my big twist, and if I do it right, it will be PERFECT. So I’m re-vamping my playlist for Chasing butterflies, cracking my knuckles,

And. . . Here we go.

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