It’s been a while

I can’t remember the last time I “blogged”. I only ever do this when I have something on my mind. Today, I have something on my mind.
I remember when my family got it’s first computer. I remember I kept wanting to open the “typing” program. Thinking back on it makes me laugh. I remember writing all my life. I never thought I’d ever write a book, but I’ve always loved to write down my thoughts. I have (actually my mom has…) notebooks and notebooks filled with my crazy thoughts. Sometimes I would make up stuff and sometimes I would write about boys. Sometimes my thoughts were just random.
I remember when I started getting a little older and summer started, I could actually sleep in. I wouldn’t get up. I laid in bed and just made up stuff in my head. I could lay there or stay in my room for hours while no one else except my brother was home. I’d make up stuff until I had to clean up the house before anyone got home.
I remember walking down my neighborhood road talking to one of my friends and I’d just make stupid stuff up.
I haven’t thought about some of this for years.
Now, I’m writing and I feel self conscious. I think to myself, how can I come up with unique stories that people will want to read. So I don’t drown into oblivion with all the self published authors? Or all authors.
This bothers me so much that I put off writing sometimes.
I have no support from my immediate family. I feel like an idiot for even trying to write sometimes.
This is not me complaining about that.
This is me being afraid that my stories are the same as every other story out there. Is that really so bad? I have my own unique spin on my stories but overall, will everyone pass it over because it is another love story?
I love love stories.
I love reading about struggle and finding happiness with life and love.
Reading, for me is a fantasy.
I can pretend to be the one who fell in love with a rock star or I can pretend I’m the rock star. I can pretend to be the one standing on stage, looking across a sea of people screaming my name. I can pretend to sing at the top of my lungs with thousands of people singing along.
I can be anyone I want to be.
I can be a billionaire.
I can be a dancer.
I can be a pilot.
or a nurse.
or a stay at home mommy.
I can be the one to fall in love with all those people.
I can be the one those people want to save for whatever reason.

I can allow my emotions to flow across the page when I’m having a bad day or when I’m having a fabulous day.
There is an endless possibility to who I can be.

I want to be me.
My stories are an extension of me. If they are similar to a million other ones, it doesn’t matter, because my stories can from my mind. No one else’s.
If my story doesn’t satisfy you, well then I’m sorry. Find something different. Find something that will flip your switch. That’s what I do.
Not every story be perfect for you.

I’ve probably written something like this before. I don’t know. Right now, I needed an outlet to say that it’s okay to be me. And it’s okay for my story to be similar to others because it is mine.

Finding Rapture will come out soon. As of right now I’m about a week behind where I wanted to be. But that’s okay because I need to experience the story.
Some of it isn’t perfect.
Some of it is emotional.
And without giving any of it away, I’m having a hard time coming up with a good synopsis.
Such is the life of a writer, or story teller.

BTW, Finding Rapture’s cover reveal is on February 2nd.
It is the story of young love, rock star love and emotional love. It is the story of life.
Genre: YA/NA – sort of in between.
target audience: 15 and older
-He pulled me into the music. I pulled

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