Lately, I’ve scarcely had a moment to write because my days are jam-packed. But here’s the thing: I need to write. I have a storied relationship with stories, demonstrated here:
If I misbehaved as a tyke, my parents would confiscate my library card. In elementary school, I missed the life lesson on social skills and would read at the lunch table while my friends traded Handi-Snacks and milk pouches. My nerd flag flew high as I chose books based on the number of pages – I didn’t even care what I was reading, I just wanted to boast how the last book I read was 800 pages. (You think I’m exaggerating…)
A natural reader is typically a natural writer. The natural writer just has to carve out more time in her schedule so she can win an Oscar already. Or at least curb her Facebook addiction. Whichever comes first.