You have always thought you have the talent, ideas, ability to write fiction. You have read something and said, "I could do that... And better!"
Maybe you have actually started writing something: a short story, novel, etc.
But then something happened. And that something was life. You got married. You got a new job. You lost a job. You learned you were about to be a father/mother....
Your writing took a back seat to what was facing you two inches from your nose.
A year later.... five years later.... a decade later.... two decades later, during you're next move forced by a divorce, you come across a single piece of paper with your words on it. Those words expressed so enthusiastically how you were going to write, and every word was filled with naive optimism about your obvious literary future success.
I was a college junior in 1992. This was where I was. Now... I'm looking back at my collegiate writings and wondering what went wrong.
But what if I'm looking at it the wrong way?
In the time between 1992 and the present day, 2017, a lot has happened.
I served in the Army.
I earned a Bachelor's Degree... a Master's Degree.
I would marry... and divorce... and marry again... be a father to five children... but divorce, unfortunately, again.
I wrote thousands of articles as a newspaper journalist.
In short, I experienced life.
Now at 47, I'm encountered with the musings of my 22-year-old self. As tempted as I am to be angry or disappointed with myself for not following through with my aspirations from nearly two decades ago, I realized something.
MORE TOMORROW ON MY REVELATIONS THAT HELPED ME START WRITING AGAIN
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