Why is the journey towards accepting what I love so much so difficult? Why can't I just confidently say to myself, "Why yes! I love to write, of course I'd like to have more opportunity to discipline myself to regular writing with the intent to produce a whole novel?"
Somewhere inside of me is the precocious high
school student who spent every spare block in the library, writing. Submitting manuscripts. Writing some more. Discussing publication with the librarian. Being interviewed for the student newspaper and confidently setting goals to be published in the next five years.
Somewhere inside me is the eager 12-year-old who's first fanfiction was to mimic the scene from Jane Austin's "Sense and Sensibility" where Mr Ferris helps Miss Dashwood with the shawl that has conveniently dropped its corner from her shoulders.
Somewhere inside of me is the knowledgable 7-year-old who wrote, illustrated, and "published" an alphabet book for her little friends. It even has a cohesive plot.
And somewhere along the way I allowed something else to steal that joy and confidence from me. A dragon. I don't know where that dragon came from, not yet, not fully. But this blog will be the story of finding it, slaying it, and overcoming the habitual voiceless patterns that came with it.