I’ve always thought of myself as a writer. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve wanted to write. I have written ever since I was a kid, though obviously the quality was questionable for a long time.
Recently, I’ve begun to get more serious about this passion, this unending desire to one day be read. I’ve sat down to finish some short stories with the hopes of completing a short story collection. I’ve even found a publisher that I want to approach with the concept.
And today, I finished the first of the short stories.
That has always been my biggest problem as a writer: finishing my stories. When we were assigned short stories to write in school, I would keep going and going, and never quite manage to finish what I started. Novel attempts go far but end up without, well, an end.
But today I finished the first of the short stories I want in this collection. It’s called Teeth. I’m pretty proud of it, though it needs a lot of polish still.
The point is, I finally sat down and really wrote. I wrote and wrote until I was done. Sometimes I just stared at the screen without a single idea, but I always made myself come back and put pen to paper (so to speak).
It’s a nice feeling to be able to think, I can do this.
Maybe one day I’ll see that dream of mine fulfilled.