Sometimes I get a little less than motivated, and I have to ask myself why I write. Looking at my bank account, I know it’s not for money, that’s for damn sure. Really, it all comes down to my past, as so many things do. 

When I was young, I was very, very shy. I had a few friends, but I still often felt rather lonely. Sometimes it would feel like the loneliness was going to kill me . . . but books were always there to save me. Eventually, I  learned that if I was lonely, Anita Blake would be more than happy to shoot my loneliness in the head. Hermoine Granger was always there to wave her wand and take away my depression. 

As I got older, my depression got worse. I stopped reading as much as I did when I was young. I started making bad choices. Really bad ones. I didn’t even recognize the person I had become, and I didn’t really care. Eventually, after roughly six years, all of my choices and sadness and anxiety accumulated into the worst decision of all. 

It was a good thing though. Afterwards, I had to look at things differently. I had to be grateful. I had to be grateful for my life, and those who had influenced it. I couldn’t help but think about the books that had saved me when I was young. I went back to them. They made me brave. Anytime I felt myself faltering, I would think of my heroines, and I would stand a little straighter.

This brings me to why I write. I want to do that for someone else. The only way I can thank my authors is to carry on their work. I only hope I can be just as effective. My authors got me to where I am. I’m sad to say, that I would likely be dead without them . . . but I’m happy to say it too. They may not have literally reached out and saved me, but they enabled me to save myself. They showed me that I can get through anything. All it takes is time.

Now, I’m twenty seven. I’m not married. I don’t have kids. I sure as hell am not wealthy. I’m also not the person I was ten years ago, or five, or one. I’m Sara 4.0, and I feel fucking good. I’ve realized that it takes a great deal of strength to surround yourself with the love that you deserve. It’s hard to give up on those that don’t deserve your time. It’s all okay though. We all have that courage. I found my faith in myself through works of fiction.  

In the end. The dark times are good. It’s okay to struggle. Remember that when you come out the other side, you are going to be really fucking strong. You will have surrounded yourself with other really fucking strong people. Hopefully you will have also surrounded yourselves with books. They are not just entertainment. They are inspiration. They are courage. They are dreams. 

Be happy. Life is good. Now go read some shit.


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