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The parable of the talents in Matthew 25 (verses 14-29) has always struck a distinct chord with me.  I don’t know if it’s the fact that two of the servants were bold enough to double their holdings or that the third servant liked to play things safe, so he hid his share.  That third guy sounds a lot like me.  I fear that I sometimes am the unprofitable servant that hides away my talent because I am too timid to admit to others that I enjoy something or think I am capable in a particular area.  Life is full of cynical, unhelpful critics and I’m sure part of my journey is to learn to overcome my fear of them.

I find that sharing my pursuits with others helps me to be more accountable for them.  I’ve already said it to a few but now it’s time to admit it openly:

I want to be a published author.

There.  I said it.  Phew.

I think it may be a genetic malady as several extended family members also have had similar ambitions.  I’m going to embrace the insanity and go for it.  In the last three years, I have penned three entire 80,000+/- word novels and that makes me feel accomplished already, even if 79,000 of those words are painfully rookie.  I guess the next challenge is to write something that other people actually want to read.
As much as I daydream about being an author, I’m well aware that I most likely won’t be on the same level as her:

I console myself with the fact that nobody is really on the same level as her, monetarily speaking.
Or her:
I will say however we share the same faith and the fact that our parents both gave us unusual name spellings.  We’re practically best friends already.
Heck, I’d even take her:
Okay, not really.  But the world does seem a bit unfair when a teenager is writing a memoir.
So, there you go.  If I flop, at least it’ll be an impressive failure.  If I succeed, well, I’ll let you know how that goes.

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True stories of raising children, remodeling, braving the elements and plotting out life, all while living on a humble acreage in central Indiana.

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