Once upon a time I was a writer. During high school. During college. Immediately after graduation. Writing was a constant for several years, though I have no idea where the enjoyment came from. Things just happen sometimes.

And sometimes they just don’t. I haven’t written anything of substance in almost three years. But something changes in your mindset and perspective after you read your own work, which I did this month. It takes you back to the hours spent staring at your computer screen just thinking. Thinking of what’s supposed to come next in the story, and thinking of where it’s headed.

I was also taken back to how excited I was to be writing a REAL BOOK. I don’t currently have any ideas swirling around inside my head, but I think I’m the slightest bit closer to getting back into my writing than I have been in some time. Encouragement and nice people don’t mean anything at this point because it falls on my shoulders and no one else’s. Either I’ll do it or I won’t, and nothing any person says is going to change that.