Thanks to one of my readers, I learned that not only is it important to keep going, but to realize that even one or two of your words can make a difference. And if the words I write from my life to this blog are read by someone and help them, then it is worth it. If my life experiences are lived to be shared, then I will share them. If I was meant to put something in the world that wasn't there before, then I will keep doing so.
It might not be seen by anyone, it might not be read by any eyes, it might not change anything in this world. But also, it just might.
I've written two books. One I am very proud of, it is my baby. I poured myself into this book, from every inkling of feeling to experience and transmitted it through the story of Anita, a 15-year old runner. This book has made its way into an elementary school's library system.
My other book was written based on an idea an ex-boyfriend inspired me with. I was writing it as a gift for him. When we broke up, I had more of a reason to finish it than ever, and it turned into a personal quest to get the title published. I am also proud of it, but I think I pursued it for the wrong reasons. I don't identify with the book. Not anymore.
Now I am starting my third book. I will get it published. And in this book, I will pour myself into it again. Because if we are not writing something real, if we are not sharing our story, then it will not be convincing. I have to convince myself. I have to use my emotions. I have to write my story.
Here are my two books: