There. I said it.

Guys, this is the big one. The HUGE one. I can't believe what I am about to write and share with the whole wide world.

I. Am. A. Writer.

There, I said it. Or wrote it... Anywhoo, I have always admired published authors, popular bloggers and the like. I have read amazing books and felt my heart plummet to the depths of despair because I was certain I could never write that well.

Well, something has happened. I follow a crap-ton of blogs (seriously guys, it's unhealthy) and all of these women are incredible with fashion, crafts, cooking, hair, make-up, mommying... Let's be honest. I am not good at any of those. These women who write so well about this outfit, that meal and their cute crafts are talented. And they intimidated me to death!

Until I realized something. Who have my heroines been? Louisa May Alcott, L.M. Montgomery (She is my favorite. I know we are going to be best friends in heaven), Jane Austen and most of all Erma Bombeck (this lady is my biggest hero. Ever.) I love these women because they share real, human experience with humor and honesty. They open up the world to brighter, more positive thinking and yet they do not skimp on the human suffering. They make it so beautifully clear how brutal yet wonderful life can be. 

I want that. I want to write. Guys, I can't help but write. I have to do it. When I am mad, I write. When I am happy, I write. When I am sad, I write. And I have been storing up the wonderfully flawed experiences of life, my own experiences as well as others. I have observed people and their many eccentricities. I have read both well written and poorly written books. And I am ready. 

I am ready to stop feeling like no one would ever read what I wrote. I am ready to put away my perfectionism that does not allow me to freely express myself. I am ready to tackle with confidence the wonderful story I have been working on for over four years now. 

I am going to stop trying to be like all these other blogs and just write and write and write and write. And y'all might get heartily sick of this. But that's ok. I am writing cause I love it. Not cause I need everyone to read it. (Though I love it when you do!)

I had this huge realization last night while I was procrastinating a bit of my homework. Now, no one judge me (you hear! No judging! This is a safe place, and I have the talking stick). I was reading Twilight (stop that sniggering!) because while incredibly flawed and rather crazy, that Stephanie Meyer sure knows how to punch you in the gut with raw emotion. Judge her story (which, let's be honest was actually quite original in some ways if not overdone in others) and characters as you will, but she knows how to express raw, human emotions in a way that a ton of people connect with. I have read and re-read those books trying to find her secret. Ferreting out exactly her style, word choices and expressions.

And then it hit me. No offense to Stephanie, I could totally do better. I knew love. I have experienced heartbreak many different times to varying degrees. I have held crying friends through tragedies. I have watched their love stories unfold. I have had ups and downs and I have so much to learn, but I have learned enough that I know I could write the story in my head. And I am not going to worry about if people will like it or not because I am writing for me! Because I want to know all the details of this plot line in my head. And I won't know those details until I have written it all out. (at the same time I know people would love it. Not all people, that is impossible, but the important people.) 

I'm not sure what happened, and I know it has been a work of months and therapists visits and all, but suddenly I am no longer afraid. I've got this. I am going to write. It is going to be epic.

Hello brand new world of opportunity and dreams come true! I'm so glad I finally found that hidden door.

(Linking up today with Lisa Leonard. I love her positivity.)