I’ve made some mistakes in my life. Not all of them I grieve, however. As I write this, I have two things continually reminding me of this factor. One is my phone, blown up with messages from various people who are--believe it or not--amazing at critiquing me at any given notice.
Secondly, I have a small, tiny, annoying finger gesturing from word to word as I write this, telling me good options for words, pointing out my typos, and correcting my grammar usage. Now, as an author, I can’t say that this particularly bothers me. What does bother me about this circumstance, however, is that the one correcting me is twelve years old.
And now, I have successfully confused you. Before I tell you all of the stories that led me to this point, I think I should tell you the beginning. An introduction of sorts that will give a bit of understanding as to where I’m coming from, how I got here, and what agents in my life will keep me going…