Knowing my own freedom of being

I’m understanding more and more how the man whose wife died in childbirth, who relied on blogging to keep him sane.  In a world where I don’t have much material stuff to rely on, I have this, and it’s completely unassailable.  Nobody can tell me I can’t do it, nobody can stop me, nobody can take away what it means to me.

It holds me together.  I hold me together by expressing.  Used to be that you had to be accepted by a publisher to be read.  I love the freedom of this.  One day somebody’s going to read something.   I know it takes time.  I’m not really doing it for the end result, I’m doing it for me, and hoping that when people do start reading it, they’ll relate.

It lets me know that the world is accessible to me, and I’m not alone.


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