Pimping out my gift…

For a very long time I’d lost the joy of writing. It became a job and I treated it as such. A way to get paid nothing more, nothing less.  I can’t tell you exactly when it happened. I can tell you that it totally sucked ass.

I remember dreaming of fame and fortune thinking that the novel I was writing was going to change my life for ever. That wasn’t the problem; mind you, all writers day dream. It was when the paper chase became the focus of my writing, the joy left. I committed a cardinal sin. I wrote with the bottom line in mind.

The stories became harder to jot down. The characters seemed fake imitations of people, and I started to dislike writing.

When I first started writing, I wrote of witches, alien planets, and multiple dimensions. It was horrible, but I loved it. I wrote all the time, poetry, plays, and songs, whatever. I was happy and talented and that was enough. I am slowly getting back to that place. I no longer see the money in it. The joy is returning. The characters are real. The writing feels like play again.

And I am happy. I think I'll take a writing class or two. I need to improve on my basic grammar skills. I do want to be the very best writer that I can possibly be.

Until next time

Julia