About 3 weeks ago, I stumbled upon an article that stopped me in my tracks and had me gnawing on my fingernails. Not because I was nervous––although it is a nervous habit of mine, but because I was undone.
Undone because for the very first time since I became a writer, I was vulnerable and exposed to my self-imposed creative captivity. Why? Because for a long time, I've held the belief that the stars had to align or something (or someone) had to have pity on me and recognize me for taking a step towards what I wanted before I could make it big.