I wish i could still write like i used to. I used to have such great ideas for all kinds of short stories and books i wanted to write and now theyre all *poof* gone. I couldn’t sit down and write a decent story if i tried and believe me, i have. its like ive had terrible writers block since about age 16. I once went to a book signing at a local library around when i stopped writing and i feel like it just pushed me further down into this rut i seem to be in. The intention wasn’t for that to happen, but i feel like it did nonetheless.

A girl, a year or two younger than i was at the time, was doing a book signing for the book she had published. It was a fantasy book, and i remember there being faeries, but i don’t really remember much else. I just remember sitting there in the audience as this girl and her family talked about how long it took to get it published, the process and how difficult and expensive it was because they basically had to get a small publishing company and then essentially pay for the entirety of the book. It was around then that i started to feel that i’d never actually make it as a writer like I’d always hoped.

I knew my family would absolutely no doubt help me with every part of the process but thats not what i wanted. I wanted to do it myself. And i knew i could always just go online and either write a blog (hehe…) or try and publish it as an e-book but that never appealed to me either – i wanted a physical copy of my book. Of my work of art, my personal accomplishment. I wanted to be able to carry around my book with me, with my name across the cover and say “I wrote this. I got this published. This is my brain-child. ”

Somewhere along the way, i got discouraged when i figured out i wasn’t too good at writing full stories. I tend to get too into the descriptions and lose track of where i intended the story to go. I am, however, really good at poetry. But that was discouraging to me, for some reason. I didn’t want to publish a book of poetry, i wanted a story immersed in a fantasy world of my own making. and no matter how hard i tried, i couldn’t manage to do it. and i can’t really explain why i was so against a book of poetry except that i myself hate reading poetry and felt I’d be unsuccessful in that field because if i hated it, i for some reason assumed others hated reading it as well.

In the end, i put my dream of writing a book on the shelf for a while. For now, I’ll stick to writing this blog and sharing with you my attempt to get back into writing. who knows, maybe you’ll be browsing the fantasy section at your local book store and see Anna Lee Williams on the cover~

(or, you know, my real name. who knows if you’ll know it by then or if i’ll use it)

Anna