Rambling

Starting Out

The hardest part of any adventure is beginning it.

Don’t you think?

I guess it depends on the sort of person you are – the happy go lucky, fly by the seat of your pants person, or the planning all the things and only executing when the perfect time presents kind of person.

I’m the second, in case you didn’t guess.

Well, I have always been, anyway. I’m trying to make a change and understand that there is no ‘right’ time – but likewise, there is no ‘wrong’ time, either.

I’ve also been terribly prone (and probably always will be) to putting the needs of everyone else above my own. I have a lifetime’s experience in setting aside my passions, my career, my happiness, to cater to other people’s. I always assumed that one day, it would be my turn.

Here’s the thing, though. It never is.

This is not a complaint against others, more a realisation on my part that unless I stand up and take my turn, it will likely never happen because I have been choosing to shy away from it.

So. Now it’s my turn.

Allow me to introduce myself: Sam(antha), 34 year old mother of two humans and one fur baby. Wife, unicorn, creative mind.

Emphasis on the creative part. Not joking, my mind is so well invested in creativity I often lose my grip on reality and do weird shit like put the cereal in the fridge and the milk in the pantry.

I’m an author; I write fiction. Novels, to be precise. I love to write so much I often joke that if you cut me open, words would come out. I accidentally call my kids by the names of my novel characters, I dream in plots and story arcs and I constantly wake up in the morning surprised to find I don’t actually have a pair of dragon wings. I don’t speak in complete sentences because I’m often too distracted. I forget to eat unless the kids are home to ask me because I’m busy bleeding story. I love, love, love to write. I’m always writing – and I want nothing more than to share, share, share.

Except I’ve been waiting for the right time. As though there will be some sort of symphony hiding in the fruit market, or a cameo by Chris Hemsworth to make a sexy announcement while I’m hanging out the washing. As if I will magically reach a point where the sun peeps between the clouds and illuminates me in rays of gold and the ghost of my grandmother shouts: “Now!” … and delivers me cake.

Seeing as any of these things are yet to occur, I’ve realised that perhaps there will be no right time, only now. If I want to share what I love, perhaps I simply need to do that.

Again, and again, and again.

For me, for the story, for the love, for the endless cups of chai tea (weak, black, no sugar, probably microwaved more than twice) – time to actually make good on my wishes and start doing something. Apart from growing those weird curly white hairs on the top of my head, that is.

I did have a crack at this once before; full disclosure. I did it in the way I thought would appeal to others, rather than myself, struggled with my own self worth, had a fabulous identity crisis and then took, oh, about 8 years off to raise my kids. They’re now eight and five consecutively and are capable of using the toaster and setting up minecraft without my assistance, so it’s high time I get back into the groove.

And this time, I’ll be doing it my way.

So if you like reading stories, or if you like craft, or if you like hearing about the weird stuff I do, or if you are just generally one of those quiet introverted types who prefer to read someone’s thoughts rather than actually leave the house (I feel you), well… maybe we’ll get along.

Anyone who already knows me, yes, I am back (from nether space) and I just walked in to find only me here, with that quizzical look upon my face, wondering why I changed my own locks and where the hell did I leave that key?

Forget the key.

Alohomora.

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