After years of denial and avoidance, I finally have to admit to myself that I am a writer. All the rest of the things I am, some of them good and some not so good are secondary to this. Words arch and loop in my head in graceful swirls or jolt across the screen of my mind as frightening shapes casting cold shadows. Being a writer is part of who I am. It is how I’m wired.
It doesn’t matter if I ever publish or earn a dime. I’m still a writer.
It’s time to act like one.
So, to this end, I will write more.
I will make time to write.
I will take a writing class.
I will seek out others like myself.
I will post more entries on my blog. (They will be shorter and hopefully sweeter.)
I will get out of my own way. I will write.
Everything has been too hard because I was afraid to be myself. It’s time to do things differently. It’s time to write myself home.