This is what it has looked like for a really long time. (Sometimes with a puppy, mostly always with messy hair and inside-out pajamas.) Just me, in a corner of nowhere, writing and writing and writing. For the last few years this was enough… make another coffee, write another book. It’s not enough anymore. It’s too quiet there, too small. I have too much to say. I have so much to say and yet I’ve been choosing to say nothing because I don’t want to be another voice screaming beliefs into a void. I don’t want to preach. I don’t want to force my opinions on anyone. There is so much noise already. I can’t bear to add to it. Despite these things being true, they’re excuses. Underneath that, it’s fear (it usually is). I’m afraid my voice doesn’t matter. It’s been a tough realization. Whether what I have to say is “important” or not is irrelevant. I can’t sit quietly anymore. So I am creating a new place. There is a bigger space for me than in my rough drafts, the notepad on my phone, or late at night in my own head. I don’t know where it is or what it looks like but I know what it feels like, and I’m already there.