For many years, friends and family have told me I ought to write a book. My life’s adventures offer perspective on my opinions and my passions. I often feel I’m living life backwards. The mistakes I am making now are the ones I should have in my twenties, but I was too busy adulting back then. These stories are a beginning, a challenge, to see if there is a book in me. Come along with me on this journey and let me know if I’m on a good path.
I hate talking. It sucks. Most of the time it makes me uncomfortable, or worse. I shut down and slap up concrete walls. No one gets in…or out. I’m a fortress. This collection of writing is about a possible book, but it’s also a public attempt at self-acceptance.
By nature, I overshare. I try to be an open book. However, what I share is selective. I talk about the things I choose from my perspective. I’m look for acceptance or compassion that will never come. It won’t come because the only person that can fix me, is me.
A blog won’t fix me. Writing a book won’t either. It will chip a wall. Perhaps even crack the fortress. I hope it will continue my journey on a different path. A path that exposes things I’m afraid to talk about, or simply need to get out of my head.
You Oughtta Write A Book 