This is a different sort of post and after posting about finishing my first book, I’ve had a lot of time to think about the whole process and why I stuck through it for so long. It all boiled to one sentence:
I am a writer.
Every single day, which I do not say lightly, this story propelled my mind. Every single thought churned for this little idea that blossomed into a budding garden within the walls of my heart, soul and mind. Every single dream was consumed with new ideas, furthering along the connection with the novel and I.
Writing a book, and even getting published, doesn’t brand you a writer. Though having your own published book or being Twitter verified would be pretty sweet and be the “duh, that person is an author”. It’s the simple, yet difficult act of writing every single day that changes you into a writer.
I write because my heart beats every single day for written words spilled onto a page and being the creator behind those composed sentences is an unspeakable joy. I write for the stars and beyond. For the stories and dreams nestled within my soul.
I am a writer.
I remember since I was a young child of the stories I would create to fall asleep to. Dragons, powerful heroines, the love interest to save at the end of the day, and so much more soothed my mind into a restful sleep. On long car rides, I’d envision a herd of wild, flying horses keeping next to the car or a pack of undead wolves patrolling the road ahead. In truth, I was writing before I was even really writing. Does that make sense?
Why do you write? What do you write for?
P.S. You’ll find me under the hashtag #writingcommunity (best Twitter-sphere out there!) and follow my writing journey!