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All I want is to be an author for a living.

That’s all I’ve ever wanted. And now that I’m writing my first book, I have hope. It feels like it could actually be real for me.

Now that I’ve opened that door, I will never shut it again. I will write book after book after book, honing my skills and getting better with each one. Learning how to wield words like weapons. Putting in the reps, hour after hour, day after day. Never giving in, never giving up. Writing when it hurts. Writing when it’s heaven. Writing when it’s somewhere in between, always writing, always learning, never quitting.

For years, I would have these moments late at night. When it felt like lightning struck open the ceiling and the voice of the almighty would consume me and out of my mouth would speak his words- you are meant to write.

And I would shake with the sheer power of my calling. And I would KNOW.

And the next morning, I would shove that knowing underneath the biggest rug I could find, then trample on it, over and over, filling my ears with cotton, hoping that it would go away because it was too damn scary. What if I failed?

I WILL fail.

What if I can’t do the thing I think I was meant to do?

I CAN’T do it right now.

That was NEVER the point.

My friend Paul Runyon said the other day, “I’m not good at most things, but I am good at getting good at things."

I might suck today, but tomorrow, watch out.

Because here I stand, finally. Pen in hand, finally. Words ON PAPER, FINALLY.

And I will never shove myself under a rug ever again.