Anyone among my circle of friends and family—even those who extend beyond its borders—knows I love all things literary. I devour books like they’re a lifeline. And I’ve always, ever since I can recall, longed to write. As a child, pencil and journal in hand, I crafted scripts for my dolls; one year, a piece of “flash” fiction—My Life as a Kitchen Table—adorned the wall of an elementary school art fair. Throughout the subsequent years, my desire for the “write life” buckled under the weight of life. Fast-forward decades: a degree in literature, writing and film; a collection of guest blog posts; articles penned and published in lifestyle and trade publications. But my heart. My heart bleeds for fiction. Make-believe. The HEA. Herein lies the biggest lesson thus far: To improve at anything requires 100% devotion. Sometimes the results resemble crap. But other times the stars align into something magical. And your soul ignites on fire.
What is it you need permission to pursue?
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