I did not, for a very long time, tap into my writing roots. I loved reading but writing anything other than business reports remained unlikely. Despite a strong vocabulary, stringing words into anything but dry sentences felt daunting.

My imagination, constantly on hyperdrive, won out and I began to write down some of my big ideas. It was a painful process at first, but I stuck with it. I read innumerable books on writing; I employed editors and coaches; joined and created writing groups. Slowly, I learned the craft of writing.

Really, I should have started with short stories. That would have made sense. But no, ego and the need to conquer the beast of a story rattling around my brain drove me on. It took me twenty-two full rewrites and ten years to become satisfied with my first book.

During the last few edits, I finally allowed myself to breathe life into some of my other strange thoughts. As it stands, I now have two published short stories and fully drafted outlines for three other books.

And finally, thanks to my stay-with-it-ness, the fight to become comfortable with my writing is over. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll never stop working to improve. It’s just that now the words flow like breath through my lungs. It’s a wonderful feeling.