“Lock up your libraries if you like; but there is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind.” Virginia Woolf

Writing can be a lonely process. It often requires escaping to somewhere quiet, in the dark recesses of the mind. I’ve blogged about this before—getting lost, coming up for air only when the characters are done speaking, losing track of where I am and where I’ve gone. Writing is powerful. At least it is for me.

It’s hard, too, when you put your work out there for all to read. No matter what we write as authors, it is a part of our souls that we give, subconsciously or consciously.

The Natalie Edge Series was more of a subconscious experience for me. It wasn’t until the last book that I realized so much of who I am is in these books. So much of my experiences and wounds tainted and created the story. What I thought was mere fiction became a quest of enlightenment, especially when life threw me curve ball after curve ball in my relationships with love and loss. Still working through all that. Inspiration comes at a cost and without the ability to able to control it, prevent it, or change it. It is what it is. Our muses speak to us without our consent.

But recently, I have discovered that writing doesn’t have to be such a lonely process. It need not be one of total insecurity and seclusion. I suddenly found a group of like-minded writers. We began to support one another. Talk to one another. Truly ENCOURAGE one another, without competition, without judgement, without pettiness. It is refreshing. It has emboldened me. It has changed me. I choose to take risks now. It’s even beyond that. It’s acceptance.

To Mr. B. and the Naughty Nymphettes: I dedicate this blog to you. Thank you.