The writing’s on the wall (literally)

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 It’s been a crazy few months (well, year): The Brit and I got engaged, ticked off a couple bucket list trips, planned a wedding, got married and moved into a new place. 

I made a promise to my Dad on his birthday last year, December 6, that I’d have a proposal done for my book by his next one. Maybe it was a bit foolish, maybe it was a bit too ambitious, but now that we’re settled in our place and my book outline is in my line of sight, I’m back at it. No excuses, no pretending it’s not on my radar – it’s smack in the middle of our living space daring me everyday to open my computer and add to my outline, finish another chapter, have the courage to bleed on the keyboard, as my favourite memoir coach so eloquently put it. 
These last few months have taught me that I hardly ever “feel” like writing. Writing isn’t a mood, it’s a choice. And one I need to make every. single. night. Sometimes I nail it on the first draft and other times it takes an army of editors. But I first need to make the choice to do it. So, here’s to diving back in full speed.