I have always wondered what truly makes one a good writer. It wasn’t simply correct grammar, nor an original story. A good writer needed to have a certain air to their story. As a child I was all but enchanted by writing. How easy it was to get sucked in by good books and be left feeling as a new person entirely when the final page was read. I always knew I wanted to be that kind of person. Someone that could only if for a moment make a difference in the lives of complete strangers.
I have spend most of my years on this world reading as much as I could, from as many genres as I could find. Trying to soak up all the information that I would need to make my books as special as that of the big writers. But these days, I wonder if that was enough. After the publication of my very first book, A city called home, I got lost in the endless possibilities of writing. But the more lost I became, the less words formed on my paper.
And now, staring at that white blank page, I realize that if I ever want this to work I needed to make some serious changes.