Here I sit on a lazy Saturday morning, feeling overwhelmed by everything I know I need to do today. I have a personality flaw that when things seem to pile up on me, I just can’t do anything. At least not until I break those chains of uselessness and do something minor, like writing my blog. See, just like in my non-writing life, I tend to flit from project to project. Even now, I have six book ideas that are currently in some stage of development, some even have covers! But I overwhelm myself with each story, sometimes preferring to start working on a new story rather than tackling the small problems I have with my existing stories.

This week has been a tough one and today, realizing that I need to go to the store to get some almond milk for my non-dairy milkshake, I feel like I am running a marathon backwards. Writing helps me when things feel insurmountable. I can create wonderful worlds and sweet situations that nearly any parent would love for their young teens to read. I can make up ideas that are challenging and adventurous.

But then, I face reality. I have no time to write. The house is always too noisy, dirty, or in need of some repair. Work needs more time and effort. Projects that are long overdue need to be done. My family needs time with me and I need them. So, writing falls away, back to the corner like a scolded child. The strange worlds creep back into the recesses of my mind.

And then the most terrible, horrible thought resurfaces. “No one reads your stories, anyway.”

Yes, I look at my sales regularly. Not the family and friend sales, the accidentally stumbled upon your book type of sales. Well, I say I look at them, what I mean is I look for them, ha ha ha. It is difficult knowing you’ve written the story of the century and no one has read it, right fellow writers?

I look at the books that I’ve written and I know I could improve them. Add a little here, clarify there, use more description there, there, and there. They aren’t up to Grisham standards. They aren’t descriptive like Rowling. They will never make the New York Times Best Seller list.

But then I stop and remember, I’m not writing stories for adults who spend their days talking about politics and the stock market. I’m not writing stories for middle-aged women who want steamy romance novels, nor for middle-aged men who want the tough, gritty battle-worn heroes with trashy language and bitter souls. I’m not writing to put agendas hidden behind the storylines. I’m not writing for things that society is angry about today.

Who am I writing for? (For whom? I know, I know Mrs. Thompson and Mrs. Rimer) I am writing for parents who want their children to enjoy reading but are concerned about the content of Young Adult stories. I am writing for young teenagers who want to get involved with stories that spark their imaginations and make them fall in love with reading. I am writing for a group of people who would rather spend money on v-bucks or ro-bucks than spend money on books. I am writing for a generation who has not yet found the incredible joy of a well-written story that transports the reader to a whole new world and keeps their thoughts in that world long after the story ended.

So, I have come to terms with realizing that I will never be the author anyone really remembers. My books will not grace the shelves of prolific readers nor bookstores. But I look forward to one day being the author that sparked a new generation of readers to begin looking for their own stories.

Find your own stories today and Scribe On!

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