I have three children who I have birthed from my body, but my novel…oh my novel, I have birthed from my mind and soul. Born from me as surely as any child of my flesh, it began, small at first, barely a flitting thought journeying across the surface of my mind.
More than anything, having a kid helped me realize how much I need this time to write. This time that is just for myself and myself only, when I’m not a mother nor a wife. I’m just me, putting these crazy stories on paper.
We’re so full of doubt. Even if we manage to get over the unbelievable hurdles of writing with children occupying every moment of your day and all of the space in your brain, we rarely know what to do with it. Will anyone even read the words that manage to escape onto paper?