You have no idea how this flower connects with my creative life right now. Always really. You learn. You grow. You grow. Learn More. Last night I read the first book I wrote. I write stories. They linger. I edit. I edit. They go out into the world like little soldiers of peace offering smiles keep goings.
It is hard to admit that glorious summer days spent writing ended up unpublished, trashed and collecting dust in the sucks pile. Deep down I know. I wasn’t writing for me. I wanted this story to be told. I wanted to say I am a writer because I say I am. I thought I was writing and rewriting letting the story speak for iteslf and I was merely the note taker.
Smewhere in all that I lost myself in a pile of MANY, I think they’ll like that. I kept asking how will this resonate with the audience. Many writers say that the most important part of writing is to write for you. Now I will rewrite the book FOR ME. I know why I wrote the book. I’ll write it like the kid who knows.
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