Remembering that I am a writer

I sold a book yesterday. I didn’t even talk to the person about it. Oh! I had an amazing encounter with her, a great conversation and a filled-with-humanity hug at the end. It’s her daughter, who is one of my friend, that told her that I wrote a book. She didn’t even know the story and she wanted it.

This year, I don’t think I talked to people about my book. Usually, it’s because someone introduces me saying it… otherwise it seems like I keep it a secret.

I sold a book yesterday and it reminded me that I am a writer. That writing keeps me awake at night. That my mind is set to observe, create, deconstruct and invent stories, characters and new places.

I also remembered that I created a writing game for myself this year:  publish one of my dark fantasy story. And although I haven’t said that in years, my parents where in the way of my creation. A way of not taking responsibility wouldn’t you say?

Being complete with my parents also means, for me, honoring them, by pursuing my dreams and let go of any excuses my mind would find. Yes I’m scared. The little 4 years old inside feels alone. Just like when her parents left her in the dark.

I am a being of light. That I am convinced. But somewhere along the long months of mourning the death of my parents, I forgot.

Being this light when I meet people is the best marketing tool ever. I am a writer and I sold a book yesterday.

With great respect and love!

A.