Musings

When I first started writing, I was enticed by the idea of making money—not being rich, necessarily, but living off my books and making an amount comparable to a mid-tier salary.  Then, as the stories took hold in my mind and I grew out of the need for an outline, I became taken by some inexplicable force.  It made a lie out of the supposed boredom that should come from long hours of tending to a keyboard.

So now when I write, I consider it my daily dip into my personal well of mental magic.

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