I started very young writing and not caring who ultimately read what I wrote. The stories had a lot of pictures of questionable quality, but then not all 9 year olds are prodigies. This one certainly wasn’t. I have the bounds copies of ruled paperback notebooks somewhere in my box of things from childhood and I’m certain that I’d still find the stories amusing is some way, if even only for the memory of the joy I had writing them.

As I grew older, I thought I had to write something people liked. I didn’t put anything out there as I thought my friends would think it was stupid or whatever else.

Now that I’m even older. Still not really old though. I definitely don’t care. It’s something fun to do. With that attitude, I’ve finally written a 60k plus word novel and still have more in me until I reach the end of the story. It’s taken a while because of competing priorities, but it’s come naturally. Feels great.

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