………and I’m really glad about that. I had put it aside over a year and a half ago because I just wasn’t feeling connected to it anymore. Four days ago, I picked it up again and began writing, adding nearly thirty pages to it. I missed these characters and the 1920s time period they live in and the slang they sometimes speak.
I missed the boldness of the heroine, even as she was uncertain about her feelings for the man who taught her to work in the speakeasy hidden in the basement of a rundown hotel. I missed watching these two characters discover something vulnerable with each other. I missed scaring myself as I wrote this, with words, with thoughts, with feelings.
That’s what writing is supposed to do – it’s supposed to push you beyond your comfort zone, with the things that scare you. Whatever the topic, if it scares you, writing or painting or music or any other kind of art is the best way to explore it.
In the meantime, I’m going to relish taking on my fears and discomforts with my speakeasy tale. It’s long past time. And I’m having a damn good time doing it.
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