I had a long, drawn out intro written in my head, but I scrapped it.
It was boring, self-indulgent, and unoriginal.
Look, here’s the sound-bite version:
I used to be a writer. Then I went to graduate school. The writer inside of me died, and I successfully graduated with a PhD in English. That was almost ten years ago.
Over this past summer, I woke up one morning, sat at my keyboard, and wrote a word. Then a sentence. Then a chapter. Then several chapters. Then a book.
The writer inside slowly gathered her bones, stood up, and shook the cobwebs out of her hair. I was afraid she was dead for good, but she wasn’t. Now she’s resurrected and out for revenge. She’s not in this for shits and giggles; she’s in this for keeps.
So now, to appease her, I’m embarking on a second career as a novelist. Chicago, my hometown, is my muse.
Living. Writing. Listening. Hoping you enjoy this journey as much as I do.