The rejections ransomed my thoughts, but writing was more than magic. The empty pages offered more than doubts as the invitation besotted me with a soulful divination. Although I was a wounded sinner, the calling for stories gave me a drive to push forward.
Writing my stories reconciled my passion with grace, my sins with forgiveness, and depression into healing. The fear gone and I was immersed into a world of mine own, that of which no one could harm. This word junkie propelled forward, moving against the devil who begged me to give up my life and my literary journey.
The fuel to write was the vicissitudes from self pity, an action towards love. Away sorrow, away loneliness, and be gone hatred. They were no more because these empty pages befriended me with kindness and compassion, a true love no one could sabotage.
"Keep going," said my thoughts, as I wrote down the desires to live and to write, till I am no more. Why stop, when my life has been full of stories the world deserved to hear?
Just write.