When I look back over the years of stumbling through the writing/publishing industry/fiasco, I see so many errors, so many learning curves, and so many painful experiences I wonder at how I’ve survived it all. You must love writing to enter this world. I have heard of the writers who lock themselves away for weeks at a time keying screenplays for television and movies. I’m not that hardcore, and screenplays are a different writing animal than what I do.
I look at my awards, and I wonder what happened to that writer who pursued them with such ardor. I know now I write for myself rather than others. Is that it? Is this why I no longer chase the awards? (I’m talking awards like the Royal Palm Literary Awards, but Nanowrimo counts too! lol!)
I see what I’ve accomplished and the building blocks I’ve employed stack so insignificant to what…
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