I know, right? I’m blogging. What’s up with that?
Truth is, as should be obvious by now, ye old blog has taken a far back seat to other social networks in my world. You can find all the Renee you need on Twitter. I promise, I’m WAY more active there. Also, I’m on Facebook. But that said, this blog isn’t going away. It may get a makeover in the coming weeks, but I’ll still keep her around for the occasional post of exciting updates, (hopefully I have some of those,) or random thoughts on my mind, (like the blog post you are about to read.)
So, without further ado, I give you random thoughts . . . *clears throat*
Writing and dating. Oh, the many ways they are similar. (If I were a more diligent and dedicated blogger, I would have links to my favorite posts from other writers on the subject, but alas.)
I’ve done a lot of thinking lately about one particular way the metaphor of writing=dating is applicable to me. To start, let me give you a picture of what I was like when I was younger and single. To quote the cliche: I wore my heart on my sleeve. And I gave that heart away freely. (Definitely too freely, but that’s a whole different post . . .) I’ve always been open with my feelings and opinions, and dating was no different. Once I met a guy I connected with, I plunged in without hesitation. I fell in love many times, and I guess I’m not ashamed of that. Being open to love is a good thing, right?
With writing, strangely, it’s been completely the opposite. For whatever reason, all that open, dive-into-your-feeling mindset went out the window. I was one of those girls in the RomComs who’s “afraid to love.” I built up a wall around my heart, REFUSING to let any book in. I told myself I was being “realistic and business-like” about it all. I wasn’t getting swept away. I was strong, calm, and rational.
Guys, I’m scared. I’m scared because I’ve let a book in. Well, technically, I let it in last summer, but this feeling isn’t going away. I’m so very much in love with this book. As I prepare myself to go on sub again, I’m trying to steel up my heart and emotionally detach like I always do, but I can’t do it. I also can’t ward off the lovely dreams that drift into my mind and heart when I’m not paying attention.
At first, it was TERRIFYING. It still is some moments.
But you know? I think it’s time. After the YEARS I’ve put into writing, it’s time I really fought for my dreams. It’s time I believed in myself. It’s time to let myself fall in love. So here I go. Standing on the edge of the cliff. Eyes closed, heart full, diving in head first.
And I don’t regret a thing.