I’m a born writer. I dictated my first story to my Mom before I could write (I’m sure accompanied with melodramatic sighs and artistic flourishes). By the time I reached grade 4, I was already dabbling in Sylvia Plath-type angst tinged with Poe-esque macabre. I was a poetess. Forsaking my own parties to curl up on the deck, the poetry I wrote was neither wonderful nor particularly angsty but the spirit of artistic suffering was beginning to bloom (with the hint of gothic darkness that still intrigues me).
Fast forwarding to now (since nothing interesting or noteworthy happened in the past 20 years), I’ve made it my mission to reclaim my muse and to embark on an epic adventure. Tired with feeling like a charlatan, I’ve decided its way past time to get serious about my passion for writing and it’s about time I do something to make the sentence “I am a writer” a truth instead of a wish.
If you can’t tell already, I’m an all-or-nothing kind of girl so if this seems like a crazy undertaking, I’m right there with you. Even as I’m writing this I’m shaking my head wondering what I’ve gotten myself into. Regardless of the outcome though, I’m looking forward to every day and the result at the end of each wild month.
Thanks for stopping by! I hope you enjoy the unfurling masterpiece as much as I’ll enjoy the creative process.