Ten years. Almost. Almost ten years ago I completed my first novel, made a whisper of noise about it—and then disappeared. Was it fear? Sure. Was it doubt? Most definitely. Did I stop writing? Never. I’m writing even when I don’t want to.
So, yeah: almost ten years. That was then, this is now. I’ve had some life-changing events in those almost-ten-years. Events that have inspired my writing endeavors (for better or for worse). I finished Like Sweet Buttermilk and then revised it. Finished a book of poetic commentaries and poetry, and then shelved it. Finished my second novel, Obscure Boundaries, and then saw it through.
I’m in this thing. Figuratively speaking, I’ve written myself into a corner—and don’t want to get out. Not this time. I’m reemerging as a writer, reinventing the platform, I’m … reappearing.
Welcome to S.F. Powell: Sans Serif. A blog about my writing life (mostly) without the extra “fluff” or flourish. It’s just me.
Is there still fear? You bet. Doubts? Plenty.
Let’s ride …