Because I’m thirty-something and I have a lot of unfinished stories. Stories that are stalled at a few scenes or chapters, stories that are just jotted notes in a notebook or Word document, stories that exist in ethereal fragments inside my head, and stories that are yet to come. One day I realized I’d better get moving if I want to tell even half of these.
Because of the look on my daughter’s face at her first riding lesson, and my determination that if this is what she wants to do, I want to find a way to make it happen.
Because of every reader who leaves a great review, writes an excited email, or signs up for my newsletter.
Because of all the time the oldest son and I have spent watching documentaries of awe-inspiring places and talking of far-off countries and said to each other, “We’ve got to go visit this some day!”
Because of those moments when I read something I’ve written and revised and copyedited and it’s so much more amazing than I could’ve imagined, even with its imperfections. And I think, “I created this. I breathed life into this story. This is the work of my mind.”
And so I write and write and put my work out there and write some more.
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