Ink & Pixels
Telling stories worth sharing
"I can't believe it. That's so dangerous. People fall off there every year. Don't they know it's a mile down?"
That feeling of pure, unfiltered terror—the idea of falling for an entire mile—still echoes faintly in my psyche, every day since I made the decision to quit my job and become a full-time freelance writer.
For the last two months, I've been chugging through each chapter of the manuscript, like some lone hermit determinedly hoeing her way down each weedy, unruly row of her garden. Just when I thought the editing process would never end, I noticed on my tracking spreadsheet that I only have 5 chapters left.
This is the story of my public humiliation for overly grandiose writing. It all started by me doing what any other 18-year old young woman would have done in a first-year English class: I sat down next to the good-looking Persian guy whose smile was a healthy medium between friendly and over-confident.
