The scariest moment is always just before you start. — Stephen King
I am a writer. I am a writer. I am a writer. It still amazes me that with the mental chant, comes explicit freedom to be who I have always been…inside. I was prepared to be many things but to be a writer? No, that wasn’t one of them. Writing had always been the thing I kept for me and when I was asked who or what I was, I chose to define myself by the name given to me at birth, the profession I work in, who my momma is, who I’m married to, and by the children I have.
But the writer inside of me unappreciatively, remained silent. Lately, she’d been speaking up, her writer’s voice more bold than the one I use day to day. She likes to talk dirty at times about uncomplicated carefree relationships that can sometimes be defined by one-night stands or heated chance encounters that lead to a secluded stairwell where hushed moans and whispers bounce off of stark white walls. And then just as easily she slips into decorum and can share a typical girl meets boy story. She’s even thought of killing someone (gasp).
So I’ve decided to allow a full breakthrough because I’ve waited long enough and my voice deserves to be heard as I share all that I’ve observed, dreamed of and participated in-all through my characters’ stories.
That writer IS me. I am a writer.