The real goal was never just a blog – it was to write a book. And, as much as I try to act like it wasn’t, it was quite the journey to get here, but I did it. And then I realized there is a whole other layer to my goal. I want to be an author.

I coach. I teach. I love being around other people and knowing that I have the opportunity to help guide those around me to a better future. To learning what they strive to learn. To understanding what they seek to understand. I love doing those things. But, in its own way, writing makes me feel alive. So, I write. A lot. And I read even more. 

I wrote a book in high school. And, mercifully, it’s lost to whatever vacuum things end up in when your computer calls it a day. The book was bad and I’m simultaneously proud that I did it and grateful that it vanished. 

I wrote a book five years ago. Well, I started it five years ago. It took about three years to complete because I had so much to learn along the way and because I was still working two jobs and there was a global pandemic plus my wedding sprinkled into that time period. I read about story structure, listened to podcasts about genre conventions, and consumed media through an entirely different lens. That book was better. I stand by the concept and the writing. But, it was a little muddied in terms of which genre. The characters’ relationships were YA, the plot was middle grade, and it just didn’t quite fit together. 

I wrote a book two years ago. I realized that I had learned so much in my first attempt that I owed it to myself to try again – to not let my dream of becoming an author be held in the hands of my first real attempt at writing a book. And, I’m really proud of it. I know I still have a ways to go to improve but I finally feel like I understand the job of an author well enough to make it to the next steps forward.

I will write another book – probably. I love everything about it, so how could I not?


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