Since I can remember, I have been infatuated with the idea of writing a book. Not a bunch of books or stories. Not merely for the sake of being accomplished or famous. Not to become the next big author or inspirational speaker.
My love for writing has lead me in many directions (journal-writing, blogging, screenplays, poems, essays, etc.), but I have never been able to finish my own personal book. The ideas have been there, but quickly, I have let them pass because I only except perfection. I only want the very best of my life and my views to put on paper. And I desire to express myself with a beauty beyond the ordinary or expected so that when someone picks up my story, he or she will know exactly what kind of person I am...not just my characters or plot.
You see, in my mind, a book is a kind of fingerprint. And there is only one reason to write with such completion, organization, sacrifice, and vulnerability.
I want to leave something of myself behind.
As anything else in life, writing takes dedication and time...not to mention a lot of practice. I am willing to put in the work now. I am ready to start my book. Mistakes will come and dry periods will taunt me, but I have once and for all decided to pursue this single lifelong dream of mine. From this moment on, I will begin to take a journey through my thoughts and my skills that I have never been able to fully complete.
This Christmas, I want a book...my book.
Wish me luck.
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