Sometimes people ask whether I still write, and whether I still write as much as I used to. I usually give kind of a roundabout answer, because the truth is I don’t want to admit that the thing that used to bring me so much joy and that I felt so passionate about is now yet another thing on the Things I Feel Guilty About list. I feel like a failure when it comes to writing. Am I really good at writing? Who would actually want to read what I write? I wish I could get back to how it was in the beginning, when I was 12 and I didn’t give a crap if someone read or liked what I wrote. I wrote for ME. Because I enjoyed it, and because I had all these ideas flying around my head, and because it put me smack dab in the middle of my very own adventure.
Maybe I got too hung up on the publishing side of things. Yes, it’s exciting to think that people might love your books. It’s not even about being famous, or about money (really, no one becomes an author for the money) – it’s about other people getting to know the characters you love so much and becoming invested in their stories, just like you are. It’s about telling the story and knowing that other people are letting the story become a part of them. But maybe I got too distracted by all of that and forgot to just love my characters and love their stories, and let them take me on an epic adventure I never could have planned myself.
So…here’s to getting back to the root of things. There once was a tale of a young girl who ran away, became a pirate, and found a whole other world that needed her help. There was love, and there was a sorceress, and there were dragons and armies and battles. There was a world worth fighting for. Her story should be told. If you don’t want to read it, that’s ok. But it must be told. Excuse me while I lug out some files and dust them off.