Several months ago, I found a short story I wrote when I was 9. The story wasn't anything special - a rip-off of Star Wars where the princess saves everyone on her own. The remarkable part of this discovery was how long I have been writing stories. As I've bounced around the country, I've dragged stacks of stories held in notebooks, boxes of loose sheets of paper and so many bytes. So many bytes.
Before I met my husband, I rarely shared my work with anyone. Now I'm beginning the long journey towards publishing. Experts are looking at my first book and it is excruciating. Part of me is excited to share the results of eight years of researching, outlining, fact-checking, revising, doubting, deleting, panicking, restoring and re-revising. But I'm still that kid who hid her stories in a shoebox. So we'll see how this goes.