Today I am surrounded by boxes and the detritus of seven months living in an apartment. We start moving into the house on the high plains this weekend. When I woke up this morning, to the sound of feet tromping overhead, it made me happy – happy that next week, I won’t hear that anymore. There was one day during the final editing of India by Faith that I had to ask my neighbors to please, please, turn down their music. I’ve also entertained the idea of writing a story about apartment living with a reclusive neighbor that never leaves her apartment. It’s not a biography at all.
A year ago in Minnesota, we were starting to explore a job change for my husband. We have always longed to move away and decided, if not now, when? We also have always longed to live in the country, which is how I grew up. This move too many years of longing and dreaming to finally happen.
Perhaps that’s the way writing is too. It starts as a longing, a need even, to write something to share. Perhaps one starts by writing in journeals or fanfiction or short stories or articles. A spark is struck and it briefly illuminates what could be. That brief glimpse inspires you to move towards it until at last, you’ve found blown the embers into flame.
The road to your dreams may not be straight or easy, but it’s the only road your soul wants to be on. Plan your escape now and start “packing up” the things that hold you back.