The Backstory

I’ve always loved writing. It has been my passion for as long as I can remember. I used to write short stories when I was in grade school, and then I would duplicate them into small, bound booklets to be sold to my fellow classmates for a quarter a piece. I never really pocketed much of a profit, but the critiques and sense of accomplishment made it worthwhile for a little kid seeking some form of validation.

Somewhere along the way, I lost that passion for words. I stopped reading, I stopped writing; I just didn’t have time for either anymore. I had people tell me for so long that my dreams of becoming an author were unrealistic that eventually I came to believe them. Sure, there were authors, but they lived in a world apart from the regular person. The regular person didn’t obtain a career that was actually enjoyable; they’re meant to remain in a rut, constantly stressing over bills and dreading the new day to come. We can see, but we can not touch.

I’ve had my fill of that version of reality, though. It’s a downward spiral with no hope in sight, and I don’t mean to wake up one day only to discover that I hate myself for living a life filled with regrets. I’ll not be the person who resigned themselves to a life of complacency. I have been battling with writer’s block for far longer than I care to mention, but it is my sincere hope that by writing whatever pops into my head here that I’ll manage to rattle my muse back awake. He’s an elusive and stubborn creature I’ve discovered, but I intend to best him (even if it means I must fisticuff him).

Another hope of mine is to improve upon my writing abilities, and the only way that’ll ever happen is if I put myself out there to receive criticism from fellow writers. I need something to help push me beyond my limits, to exceed the plateau in which my creative abilities seem to have come to comfortably rest upon. I know I can do better.

I mean to prove it.