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Ten years.

Ten years ago I announced that I wanted to write a book. And I did.

The joy. The fear. The overwhelming emotions of finally discovering what you want to do with your life, what you’re meant to be.

And I had two kids at the fabulous ages of two and three. I didn’t need to pay attention to them. Pfft.

But I was also 31 years-old and ready to be me, to find my passion. Life as a mom was great, but I wanted more.

Back then I had no idea what it took to write a book, well, writing it was easy, finding out that you have to edit it four hundred times and then trying to get it published would threaten to destroy my soul.

With several finished manuscripts, short stories, and a brain full of ideas, I know I chose the right path. Writing, making up stuff is what I love.

I want to celebrate the years of learning, of discovering a lot more courage buried deep within me than I ever thought possible. Any artist who has offered their work to the world, braving the critiques and rejections for those moments of acceptance, deserves to be celebrated.

Maybe I’ll bake a cake. I like cake.

Ten years ago, the magic began. Who knows how far I will get. My stories have done okay. I am working on getting a book published. Will it happen? I honestly don’t know. I can do the work, revise, write, listen to comments. I can control where to send queries. I can’t control whether or not my voice and my stories connect with agents or publishers and I will try not to let that affect me.

Even though sometimes it does. Even though there are times I want to quit, seconds where I stop believing. But the stories never lose hope, because they keep talking to me, forming in my mind.

So I write what speaks to me, what lives in my heart.

I love what I do. I will keep doing it, forever searching for that someday when someone else loves it too.

I will not worry about what I can’t control. The market. What people read. What agents want to see. All that will keep me from being me, from finding true joy.

To all of us out there struggling to find our place in the world (not just writing) I raise a big glass of chocolate milk.

To us! Be happy in the life you have chosen and don’t let the great, unforgiving world steal your joy.

Just be.