Living the life of a writer

Sometimes I took it to writing like an art project. I once wrote for the pure joy of writing. The first time I took a stab at a novel I wasn’t sure what it would be. It came from a place of great hurt and loss and it turned into a project of healing and happiness. The story I wrote flowed from my pencil in the back of Business Economics class. Had I paid more attention I would have received a better grade but I was so wrapped in creating the rise and fall of  Sydney and Josh’s lives that it made no difference to me. I would write pages and pages during the day and at night I would type them all up on the old PC at home. I had one of my good friends ‘edit’ the novel before I typed them up. My punctuation and spelling needed a bit of work and still does. Sometimes I read what I’ve written a few days or weeks after it”s been published and I think, what must these people think about me as a writer? I’ve just completed the Writers Manifesto and I’m starting to see a trend. I’m not suppose to focus on you and you’re pleasure. I’m supposed to be focused on what my soul wants to say. If you like it great! If you don’t someone else will. What I need to remember is that writing is a personal thing and it’s not supposed to be corrupted by fame and fortune. If’ that’s the goal then – I’ll fail and you’ll never be touched by something I created.

So here I start.

See you tomorrow pen and paper. I’m going back to my roots.

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