It's out in the world now rather than occupying space in a drawer or in the cloud or on my desktop. The very act of finally announcing its printed existence has energized my writer self. So, here I am writing. I'd forgotten for a while, weighed down by both worry and ultimately joy, that I am a writer. So much interferes with that realization. Life, mainly, and the choices I make to do this instead of that. Responsibilities, sometimes, for what I've said I will do and believe that I must. That inner critic gnawing at my self confidence. The psychological black hole of being and nothingness where what's it all about abuts who cares, in the end causing inertia.
And yet, here I am. Proud, not boastful. I wish you would read it, I hope you will read it, it's a good story if you like those kinds of stories. If you take a chance, I hope you will enjoy it. I've researched it, followed the characters where they led, made a few subtle points regarding prejudice, family, women's abilities, war. But, even if you do not read it, it is now out in the world, a culminating act of bravery and hope on my part. I am a writer after all, and that's what we do. We write. It's not about acceptance necessarily, but possibility. Although, I'll also take acceptance. : )
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