The other day I was musing over how all of the creative sorts that I used to follow back in the day all dropped off the face of the planet, when it hit me: I dropped off the face of the planet, too. Talk about a blind spot, lol.
Though I didn’t have any adoring fans that I let down. There are people out there who are very good at commanding attention and getting noticed … and I am not one of them. I tend to become shy. So. Very. Shy.
Anyway, my absence from the planet is why I sit here saying, “I’m super passionate about writing,” with so few titles attached to my name.
Those lost years were essential. They added depth to my ideas that I wouldn’t have developed otherwise, and broke me out of the standard tropes. They gave me life experience.
They also left me too scattered for awhile afterwards to finish anything. I had no focus or consistency.
And I don’t like talking about it, so don’t ask.
Thankfully, in this part of my life, I’m a lot more solidly grounded, so I’m much better at writing nearly every day (I say after I took a full month off just because). That’s the part that really matters to me, but dang do I wish I was working faster sometimes.
Like, it would be so sweet if I was finishing TWO novels every year, instead of just one.
Because sometimes I feel like I have too many stories inside of me, waiting for their turn.