Dear Self, Get your *&%# together. Please. Like now.

This is me right now…

So. Much. That. (Also? He was amazing, just saying.) You can’t let go of your dreams. You can’t allow yourself to forget who you are. Ever.

I’ve come to understand some things about myself in the last year. Dealing with the stress of a new, much more demanding job while going to school part time has honestly made me a bitter, grumpy bitch.

My poor, darling husband.

I had no time for creativity. I squeezed in a little crochet time, but just barely. There simply was no time. No time to quilt, or make a couple of wool work skirts. No time to read, and certainly no time to write.

I confess, I made time for yoga classes, because I really, really need that.

Time is here now. I haz it. A little at least. And If I don’t finish my novel this year I will be really angry and disappointed with myself.

HEAR THAT, SELF? You HATE that feeling. DON’T let it happen.

I need to finish this book. This story  is literallyscreaming to get out; I have to sit down and let these characters talk to me again. Get to know them better than I ever have. I don’t believe in a higher power, but I can’t deny that I feel as though someone is judging me, shaking their head disapprovingly as another day slips away without a syllable written.

It look me a lifetime to figure out what the fuck I’m supposed to be doing with my life, and I keep letting life get in my way. Working, paying bills, cleaning house, social obligations, being a wife, a doggy mom of four. Once again, I was born in the wrong time.  I needed to live 100 years ago when I could’ve hopped a steamer to Paris and been another starving writer; posing nude for Jack Dawson and writing erotica for some reclusive gross rich guy while working on my real masterpiece, which of course, would win me the Nobel Prize in Literature.

Dreams. They’re good to have.

I’ve always believed that there are no such things as obstacles. When I see something I want to sew, I just try to make it, pattern and convention be damned! Obstacles are another type of box.  There is always a way to get what you want. You fail when you don’t try. And I’m not trying right now, but I’m not going to let myself fail. No fucking way. It’s corny,but this is what I’m supposed to be doing. Whether I’ll be able to feed myself on Ramen doing it is another question entirely. I’m not worried about that though. I just have to worry about one thing…

WRITE THE FUCKER, JENN.

Don’t be afraid of your rust. Just tell your story the way it wants to be told. The first draft(s) are shit. It’s OKAY. You know you’ve got this.

It’s on June 1st. Write. Every. Day. Even if it’s just a little. Just do it EVERY DAY, JENNIFER. And imagine you’re doing it from here.