Publishing

Who’d have thought when I started this blog, fresh out of college and trying to find myself and where I fit, that I’d end up here?

Mid-thirties, single again, with a cat for a best friend. Not to mention, some of my best pals that I talk to daily are still internet friends. So much has changed, but so much more remains the same. 

I’m no longer looking for myself. She showed up to the party a few years ago and said, “Screw labels and pressure and trying to fit in a box (or worse—fit outside of one.)” About the time my marriage fell apart, I finally remembered who I could be under the years of neglect and abuse. Being stripped of everything I owned and loved was a powerful trial by fire.

Granted, I still care what others think of me, just in a different way. I’m publishing my first full length fiction novel this year. My fear has become less about what people think of me and more about how my soul will live in black and white typeset for literally anyone to tear apart and set aflame. 

That’s part of why I’m writing this. For years, this blog was a small window into the inner workings of my sailboat mind and the roiling sea of emotions it navigates. You’ve watched me flounder, or get too cocky, have listened to heartache and near death experiences and profound longing to be loved for all that I am.

I’m still that girl, just grown. Still longing. Still sometimes feeling like a genius, a sinner, a lost child, or an overworked mare that needs to be put out to pasture. If I survived fifteen years of putting my heart and my words out across the internet, I can handle being published. 

That doesn’t mean I’m going to read the reviews. 

;)