As an introvert, I spend hours in my head, but I am rarely alone. Not by a long shot. Novel characters appear with fascinating stories to tell while my muse whispers charming prose, and inspirational music plays in the background. I write in self-defense. Composing fiction is my exercise, a method of quieting the voices, and as I surrender to the writing process, I lose myself. Time travel is real. The tales transport me to different eras, unique and provocative lives, and singular universes.
Once, I believed the act of transcribing the narratives I hear would silence them. It hasn’t worked that way. Instead, it has generated additional protagonists with risky adventures, enormous demands, and they possess an unrelenting urgency for me to retell their epic sagas.
Writing is an absolute privilege that lets me connect with others in ways I could never imagine. It provides me an avenue to…
View original post 46 more words