Because it is the 1st of 2015, I feel it is appropriate to write something down on this page to set a path that I hope to follow for the next year. I’m a writer. I honestly tell you that I am not a good writer. But I love to tell stories. I lose myself in them and find my days taken with funny lines of dialogue and great ideas for conflict. I failed deeply last year in some big writing goals. I succumbed to depression and hopelessness and I lost my joy. In 2015, I want to fight to keep my joy in writing. I’m giving up on rules and conventions. I’ve tried to be the storyteller that my education told me I needed to be. I can’t. I’ve never been able to follow the rules well, and this year I plan on breaking rules, and finding my own path as a writer. I know that all of this will probably end in failure, but I was writing this morning and I laughed out loud. I snickered. I almost cried.

I want to write like hot lava were coming out of my heart, and I want to stop trying to make my imperfect words perfect. Do you know why music sings? Really? Do you know why perfectly played notes never sound real? Because music played imperfectly reflects the soul. A note held too long. A violinist who trembles as they play a heart-wrenching melody. A singer who’s voice breaks when reaching for a word they can’t bring themselves to say. Imperfection breathes life into static notes — even into simple music. And I believe that imperfect writing does the same. I’m not going to be perfect this year. I am going to write from my heart and trust what it wants to say. I need to write this here. So that when the evil green monster of perfection rises beneath my bridge, I can repel him with this knowledge. I am not perfect, and I write for imperfect people. May my imperfection this year create a book that will not just play, but sing a melody.

Watch this song below. Watch how the musicians act. Listen to their voices. Does their performance move you?

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