My friend giggling fattie kindly tagged me for #MyFirstPostRevisited.
Here’s what I’m
supposed to going to do…
» Copy and paste your old post into a new post
or reblog your own bad self. (Either way is fine but NO editing.)
» Put the hashtag #MyFirstPostRevisited in your title.
Tag five other bloggers to take up this challenge.
Notify your tags in the comment section of their blog
Feel free to cut and paste the badge to use in your post. [I may be a bitch, but it just wasn’t pretty.]
» Include the rules in your post.
I like this little challenge… I don’t imagine very many of my current followers have read my first post. I could be wrong… but I’m guessing it’ll be new to almost everyone. It has an enormous 7 likes.
I remember the first time I shared my fiction writing with anyone. Years ago… on an online forum where I could maintain anonymity. I thought my writing was good, but I had never gotten a second opinion and I didn’t completely trust my own.
The response was positive and overwhelming. I think I always knew I had imagination and talent, but I never had confidence. I don’t think I ever truly believed I was really good. So I went dark again. I still wrote… it would come in waves… but I didn’t share. Maybe I was just writing for me.
Writing is escapism. I have written what could likely turn into no fewer than five novels, possibly as many as seven. Yet most of them are not truly finished. I am inside those stories, in an imaginary life I created. I love my world. I never want to leave it and I never want to let my characters go. The ending is the hardest part.
Recently, I wrote something deeply personal to share, anonymously again, with a group of forum readers. (And maybe someday I will share that here.) Something happened after I spontaneously posted my personal struggle. Someone responded, to the matter at hand, yes, but also to my writing. She was impressed enough to suggest that I should be writing for others. A few days later, another reader intimated the same thing. The day after that, a very kind gentleman reader told me I had ‘obvious abilities‘ and I should clearly be writing… for myself… for others… for life.
His sentiment was spot on. I need to write for life. I couldn’t live without it. So here I am. Writing. Finally.
There it is. From 2015…