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Writing this book has been like finding a vein and following it until it breaks off into two, and then choosing one to follow which then branches into fours, and I never pick the first and go with the third, which leads me into another roundabout of choices. Vein after vein after vein. A memory bleeds into another and another until all I can truly get down is the color, the weather maybe. When I hit this point, I reach out to two writer friends seeking advice. One suggests stepping away, taking a break. The other says write through it. Both are right, but I get a good chuckle out of their opposing views. I do step away, and I do return to go through it.

There is immense freedom in believing in the work you are doing--motivation is more at the ready, little seems forced. That said, belief in the work adds to the risk. I want so much for what I believe in. I trust myself which is downright frightening(and again, freeing). Fear is not going to leave so I might as well set an extra place setting and invite it to the table. Here is everything you need to feel a part of this. A part, but not the whole.