It's been too long

Writing has always been my first love.  Back when we didn't have enough money to buy books or install cable TV, writing became my refuge. I wrote my own stories and spoke to a faceless crowd online.  I've met wonderful writers like myself and people who would later become my friends.

After a major setback in my life, also known as the death of a decade old relationship, I couldn't write. I was paralyzed with brokenness and depression. Photography became my newest passion.  I dove into it head first. I studied and read about it, I experimented, made mistakes and improved my skills. I took hundreds of photos and made a new set of friends. I had no idea where it would take me. All I know is as long as I wasn't alone with my thoughts, I was okay. Nothing could hurt me.

It has been almost three years since that day and I am glad to say that I can talk about the past without bitterness. The hurt is still there but it's not a sharp as it used to be. My foray in the arts, travel and school has filled in the places where my ex used to occupy. I am okay.

And thus I feel my writer self finding its way back into the world. Little by little, I have started to pick up my pen and write down stories. I wrote down shorts, since I still don't think I can do a full story or novel.  Such endeavor requires careful planning, a detailed outline and emotional and mental preparation. However, I am challenging myself by being a planner instead of a panster this time for Nanowrimo.

Here's to going back into the warm and familiar arms of my first love. Time to write with inky fingers and a solid heart.