A teacher once asked me what my most prized possession was. I replied, "My imagination, because I can take it with me wherever I go. No one can take it away from me."
I've been creating imaginary worlds, all my life, when not enjoying ones created by other authors. I have so many stories and ideas for stories caught up in this place, I call my mind. Yet, so little of it is ready to share.
Time. I don't make the time for it. With all the other things I have going on in my life, combined with my insecurities, I've not made the time.
I do have one book being illustrated. A book I wrote nearly a decade ago. I hope to publish it, before the end of the year.
I still haven't done anything more with the one I intend to illustrate myself.
I've got a handful of partially written out things, as well as, another handful, of outlined ideas and notes for possibilities.
But they don't scratch the surface of what awaits inside.
I'm often told that, someday, I shall have the time. I will be able to give my attention and focus to it, because my kids will be grown and not need me so much. Honestly, I'd rather not wait that long. However, that means making the time for it.
To be fair. I was interrupted at least 14 times before I got to this point of this small post. Being able to hyper-focus on my writing can be quite difficult, but I am trying. Little by little, post by post, I am trying to get into the habit of writing and making time to do it.
