Put my writing into the world and let people read it.
Which sounds like a peculiar thing for a writer to say. But writing something and allowing someone else to see it require two very different kinds of courage.
On a private page, you can say what you mean without wondering how it will land. You can cross out a sentence, change your mind, or close the notebook.
Sharing it means allowing it to leave your hands.
Someone might misunderstand. Someone might find it too sentimental, too strange, too much.
Someone might notice how much of you is in it.
And yet, I have published books. I have built Voice With a Purpose. There are poems, reflections, blessings, and journals out in the world with my name attached.
Occasionally, I think that deserves a moment of acknowledgment.
Possibly a biscuit.
Because from the inside, building something rarely looks as impressive as the finished description. It looks like deciding whether a paragraph belongs. Moving something around. Learning how a website works, then discovering that a button has developed personal objections to being a button.
It looks like doing one small thing, followed by another, while still having questions.
I haven’t reached some grand state of permanent confidence. I still want to revise things. I still wonder whether a piece has said enough, whether it needs more room, or whether I’ve explained something that would be stronger if I simply let it stand.
But I’m learning to make those decisions as a writer whose work is allowed to be seen.
That matters to me.
What I want most is to create work that helps someone feel less alone. A reader might recognize something they have struggled to explain. They might laugh. They might find a sentence they want to keep close.
I can’t know every place my words will go. I can give them the chance to get there.
There are still things I hope to build, and plenty I am learning as I go. But I want to be careful not to let the next goal erase the significance of what I’ve already done.
I made a place for my words.
Then I opened the door.
And now, when someone asks what I’ve done that I never thought I could, I have an answer I can point to.
Voice With a Purpose.
Apparently, I’m doing this.
And yes, I intend to keep the glitter.
Apparently, I’m Doing This
