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The Fuel

Writing my drive

I woke up post-Valentine's Day and it felt serene. The sudden urges to write that came in the middle of the night, upon Valerian induced dreams about pugs, honey bees, and Jane Austen, fueled me. Still working on reading her novels while rummaging through the moving boxes inside my house. Loveland/Berthoud, Colorado, is now home. Never been here before, but after writing much about lost loves, violence, non-profit organizations and public health prevention, I found writing about the unknown was the first step of writing for life. 


Ramifications and recoveries of doubts and fears, I shall call it. Writing helps and heals. 


Write scared, I was once told, by Vanessa-Brantley Newton, a dear friend and fellow SCBWI member. Thus, writing about love, life, and everything in between, for me, for children, for adults, for every part of myself that I wanted  to explore. I didn't know anything about writing, until I wrote. Letting go of the fears of fumbling and failing were some steps. The fears of losing, the fears of not being published, who cares....I will write. While working, while dreaming, while eating, while crying, while everything...just write. Being paid is a perk, being loved is nostalgic, being healed, is bliss.

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