I wrote from my heart.
I wrote what I knew about.
I wrote what I felt.
I wrote without a strategy.
I wrote without index cards.
I wrote without plotting.
I wrote dialogue, as I would speak and how a lover would speak to me.
I wrote the story because it wanted out of my head.
I wrote without taking notes.
I wrote what I saw in my head.
I wrote in the voice of the character.
I wrote because I was stuck at Gate 47 in the Denver airport during a snowstorm.
I wrote because my heart had an affliction.
I wrote for the sake of writing.
I wrote in first person without thinking about it or any knowledge of the stigmas tied to this POV.
I wrote honestly.
I wrote beginnings after endings.
I wrote endings with new beginnings.
I wrote about love at every turn.
I wrote without fear of consequence.
I wrote without doubt, evaluation, or regret.
I wrote with all my heart.
I wrote with reckless abandonment.
I wrote freely.
I wrote without expectation (I did).
I wrote knowing my heart would break (it did).
I wrote intuitively.
I wrote without a key, a map, or without a clue about how to.
I took a writing class or three.
I bought a how-to book.
I read books on craft.
I joined a writing group.
I went to a conference.
I work-shopped my stories.
I stopped writing from the inside of my heart.
I questioned everything I wrote.
I stuttered on the page.
I listened to what I heard and read.
I discounted what I knew in my heart.
I closed the door to what came naturally, and intuitively.
I howled at the moon.
I walked in circles.
I drank wine late at night.
I wished upon a star.
I bought journals.
I wrote love letters.
I had a new affliction in my heart.
I ate chocolate kisses.
I took a walk.
I signed up for NaNo.
I wrote 1,666 words everyday.
I didn’t’ stop writing until I finished.
In those hazy winter and spring months following my first NaNo, I found myself as a writer. I learned what I had always known — but had lost sight of — which was to trust in my sixth sense. I accepted my voice, her quirks, the finished and tarnished edges, her playfulness, her audacity, her raw emotion, her brokenness, her sense of value, but mostly to trust where she leads me.
After thousands and thousands of hours and words, I’ve learned, to live the dream, to love and be loved, to write and to continue writing, you have to surrender all of yourself. Writing is like loving. It’s not a Wednesday afternoon tryst. It’s everything from the first woo on through to the exhale of release. I’ve realized, and only recently, that each day there are new challenges. I do not, and will not ever know everything there is to know at any point in time. I will continue to grow and evolve with each breath, each line, and each story, as a writer.
It took me a while, but I finally came home. I’m back where I started.
Regardless of what brings you to a blank page, remember to write from your heart and with passion. Write with integrity. Write honestly. Write with reckless abandonment. Write without expectation. Write with conviction, and sincerity. Write originally. Write what you know and then some. Write with spice. Write with love. Write from your heart. Write with discipline. Write for one reader. Write without filters. Write to a lost lover. Write with all of your senses. Write as if you were dying. Write as if you are making love for the first time. Write as if you are staring down the barrel of a gun. Write without doubt. Write without an editor on your shoulder. Write as if there is a camera on your shoulder. Write without compromise. Write what you feel.