So here I am at Habitat, ostensibly doing work ie cataloging bootleg lighting fixtures for Ebay, but really I have the urge to write. I talked to my friend Jace last night about why I don't write as much anymore and it all comes down to THE FEAR.
What kind of fear, you ask? Fear of failure. It's what usually keeps me from doing things I know I could excel at because let's face it, putting yourself out there is scary. At I'm not usually much of a risk-taker.
I'm thinking of doing Em's 30 Days of Blogging fandango to get me back into the habit because one day I really do want to write The Great American Novel, or something. And what is great writing without practice, even if it's sludge like this?
So here I am. This is the prologue to a New Me who loves writing just as much as she used to, and maybe one day will be good at it like she used to be. The "prodigal" writer, as her teacher's called her in grade school. Seems laughable now, but that talent (and moxie) is still in there somewhere. I just have to find it. So wish me bueno suerte.