The Year Of...

I was sitting and having a conversation with my wife the other day. To sit and have a conversation with my wife is like having a heart-to-heart with my own personal muse. She speaks directly to my soul most days. If it's not working on plot structure or character motivation, it's talking me off of a ledge or putting some wind back in my tattered sails.

The words she pulled out of my mouth were "I feel like a fraud writer." It's true. At this very moment, I have absolutely nothing to show for my countless attempts at spinning a yarn. Sure, I have some drafts here and there, but I don't think a single one has an ending, let alone a very strong beginning (let's not even speak of that middle slop). Anyone can jot down some words, and millions have "written a novel." I don't want that, though.

I want to write a story. I don't want just any story, though. I want my story. I want to be able to say "I wrote that." Invariably, I'll have to say "no, it's not that original but it's mine." I'll be able to say it's finished, though.

Everybody has a story. It may not be an instant best-seller, or sold to a movie studio for a four-movie trilogy, but everybody has a story that needs to be told. I have a few in me. Some of them are little toots, and I think I have a few blaring trumpet blasts too.

So, this is the year of the writer for me. I will be reading a lot more, and writing a lot more. I will actually dedicate myself to this craft, through good and bad. If you want to go on this journey with me, subscribe in your feed reader and get ready to hear some more angsty writer talk. I might even fling a few encouraging words your way.

I'll start by reading this. Who's with me?

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