It’s scary. I didn’t even think I could read until 4 or 5 years ago, or “read for real”, as I would say. I couldn’t make it through a magazine article, much less a book. I’d drift off into another world after a paragraph or two, and lose my place all together.
And now, I want to write? Like, seriously? How can I…be a writer? I barely squeaked through High School. I dropped out of College. I work full time. It’s absurd to think about. Me, a writer. Ha, yeah right!
But I’m doing it. I’m writing right now. Therefore, I am a Writer. Will I be a published writer? I don’t know, but I think so. I am working on it. One thing’s for sure, if I don’t write, I’ll never be published. And I do want to be published, or for others to read my works and be inspired. And, it certainly would be nice to get paid to write.
But being published isn’t the main goal. Allowing my soul to speak, creating art in the form of words, writing in itself, is the goal. Maybe it’s scary if I think about it too long, or dwell on publication, or other peoples’ opinions…so I don’t think, I just write. And, I’ll cross those bridges when I come to them.