This is where it all began. This was the beginning of not letting fear rule me. From teenager to adulthood, I had hidden my work in secret places. Then one day, about 15 years ago, I burned it all. I destroyed every poem, short story, all my work, and I began fresh. I became a blank slate. With nothing. No promise to ever write one tittle of a word or anything, ever again. I started over. And I just lived. For a...
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“We tell ourselves stories in order to live, to justify taking lives, even our own, by violence or by numbness and the failure to live; tell ourselves stories that save us and stories that are quicksand in which we thrash and the well in which we drown, stories of justification, of accursedness, of luck and star-crossed love, or version clad in the cynicism that is at times a very elegant garment.” The Faraway Nearby by...
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Subscribe and receive my free resource, “Breaking Up with Fear,” plus a bonus toolkit of Facebook tips. I have dreamed of words and of art. I even dabbled in painting, long ago. I wrote poetry and hid behind metaphors. However, I imagined these as hobbies irrelevant for adulthood, at least for mine. Art of any kind was not considered a career, a talent maybe, but not something to pour your whole life...
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