Lately, I have been doing a lot less blogging & instead working more on my book. I have written a lot of “books,” throughout my life. As far back as elementary school i can remember having a desire to see my words & name in prints. Even before I knew how to write I would scribble my mother notes & tell her what it said. When I write people read. It has become therapeutic. Often in times when words fail I write. What I cannot verbalize or communicate to another comes out so naturally on paper. To get my point across I would often write letters.
Despite this fascination I have never really considered writing as a profession & yet this is where I find the most enjoyment. “There is no money in writing,” says the rest of the world. Had other authors have listened to them we wouldn’t be speaking of them now. Money is a harsh reality. We just can’t be gone with it, we need it to survive. So I had to find a way to do both. Now here I am at 26, writing my “first book.”
While speaking with my sister this afternoon I expressed my excitement for the story & she said something that stuck with me.
“This time don’t throw it away.”
“Yeah, but this one is good I think, I won’t throw it away.”
Her response, “They were all good, you just gave up on them.”
For the first time since I have been writing. I have felt the loss of those stories. Were they any good? Could they have been something? I don’t know, because I threw them away. It is true I have written many stories that have ended up in the trash. For a number of reasons. I wish I had saved them. I wish I could have seen what she seen in them at the time.
I made a promise to my sister & myself today that despite what becomes of this story I will NOT throw it away.