I am finding out more about the kind of writer I am. I didn’t know when I started this novel writing class it would happen. The permission I gave myself to play worked. Even on the days (one of which was yesterday) I thought I had nothing to give, I manage an outpouring that is genuine and doesn’t feel strained.

Next week is the last class in this session. I fully expect to get direction on what to focus on until our next session and feedback on my growth. As much as it has invigorated me, I almost didn’t go last night. But something told me, even with my eyes half closed, I would regret it. And I would have been right.

The fellowship with the other writers, the prompts, the sharing and the encouragement gave me a second life. I can’t believe it’s almost over but now I know what I have to look forward to.

And I am not looking back.

 

 

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