SquarePeg Books

I have a confession to make.

I want to be my characters.

Even my most pathetic, wallpaper background character has more courage than I do.

I want to live my characters’ adventures. I want to be able to throw responsibility to the wind and not have to pay the price for it. I want friends I can trust with my life. I want companions interested in seeing the world with me. I want lovers that can make me writhe in ecstasy and beg for more.

I want to vent my rage at everyone who angers me with their slights. I want to look back on everyday and not feel regret for how I’ve spent my life. I don’t want to care about how my actions affect other people. I want to feel desired. I want to be pleasantly surprised that things turned out so well from a steaming hot mess.

I want to be 39 going on 40, feeling like 28, not 39 going on 60, feeling like 97.

You can change, they say. Every day, every moment. Is a new chance.

True. It is.

But I can’t have even half of what I want without destroying everyone else around me.

Perhaps that’s why I write. So I can pretend the real world doesn’t exist. So I can live out hopes and dreams without negative consequence.

I don’t want to be on my deathbed supremely pissed and sobbing that I didn’t get what I wanted done.

Which I suspect will be the case. So I live vicariously through my characters, and hope that it’s enough.

Check out the Insecure Writer’s Support Group to see more writers dish about their concerns, their solutions to various problems, or just a general fear of spiders.