You know,

I was about to begin this post with something really self-deprecating. Something like, “Welcome to my little world of creative chaos, I have no idea where this is going, join me for the ride, LOL”.

I am not going to begin that way.

I posted on Twitter the other day: “Why is it that I always think of my passion projects as ‘playing’, just because they’re not my day job? They’re still hard, and require a lot of time and effort, and big-picture-wise, they’re really, really important to me and my life. So why do I belittle them like this?’

Why, indeed.

I think the answer lies in fear. Fear that these great big shining dreams of mine will fail, and that the failure will be monumentally embarrassing unless I make the pretense that I actually didn’t care about them at all. They were just wild experiments, they aren’t that important to me, yadayadayada.

But they are important to me. And that’s why it’s so frightening to actually chase them.

I have a book sitting in front of me. In it, the main character says to her sister, “I can control an arrow. I know where it’s going to fly as soon as I let it loose. I don’t fail. What if I try to be what I think God wants me to be… and I fail?”

That book is my book, and that main character is my main character. And someday–someday, you’re all going to be able to read her story.

My story.

A story called