For my first blog, I sat at work today and wrote out this post that would be positively brilliant! And then I erased it. And then I started it again. And, then I erased it. Too pretentious. Too cutesy. Okay...too dumb. What do I write? And, then I just started typing and this is what I came up with. I'm a writer. Yes, I admit it. There it is. That may seem really...oh, I don't know...lame, but its true. You have no clue how long its taken me to just come out and declare that without my hand swiping across my mouth so it sounds something like, "Whime uh whita". Pretty pathetic, let me tell you.
Many writers, I'm sure, face that self-defeatist attitude of, What makes me think I can crank out a book that people will actually want to read? I can't be the next Nora Roberts or Linda Howard or Sherrilyn Kenyon. And, what I've come to realize is this...that is absolutely true. I will never be them. But, I can be--and am--Naima Bryant. And, only I can pen a story where Eugene Dudley falls madly in love with me, when at ten he didn't know my name. Only I can create a passionate, torrid affair with Donnie Wahlburg from New Kids on the Block, where I have his love child, and after years apart we end up married, living in Novia Scotia. Okay...reality check, somebody actually could write a story with Donnie, but it wouldn't star my alter ego. The point is no one can write my stories, because they come from my head, my experiences and dreams. Its what makes me unique and my voice my own. So, I can declare with utter confidence say that as long as I keep putting paper to pen--or fingers to keys--I am a writer who has a story to tell. And that woman somewhere out there in Boston who lusted after New Kids on the Block, too...at least I know she would buy my book.