I am an aspiring author and to put it plainly, I am totally messed up. There is so much information out there and so many blogs with advice that it is truly not hard to get lost in the plethora of information. It makes your brain want to explode. At first I read make sure you write things which you are passionate about, ok makes sense. Well, I absolutely love romance, mystery, history, music, fiction, nonfiction, and of course comedy. So I pretty much love everything except sci-fi and gore. My first essay I wrote was about going back to the small family farm I grew up on. Easy, right! I had a ton of emotion behind it, crying the entire time I wrote it, and the words just poured out onto the pages almost faster than I could type it. I have a beautiful friend who is genuinely a well established author in Canada who offered to take a look at it and give me some tips. Her critiques were well received, much needed, and I tried my very best to correct everything she suggested. I felt amazing...
My house is on fire! The smoke is burning my lungs. I run to close the door to the bedroom trying to contain it to where it started. The panic sits like a huge brick in my stomach threatening to make me vomit but I push through it in desperation to find my dogs and husband and get them out. They are upstairs sleeping in bed. I rush up the there, my heart beating so fast I can hear the thudding in my ears and feel as though I might pass out right here and now. I’m yelling for my husband and get no response. I reach the top after what feels like an eternity and he is not there, the dogs are not there. I rush back down, becoming frantic to find him. I’m screaming on the border of hysteria. Rushing out the front door I look around and do not see anyone. Not even one neighbor looks on. A deep sense of duty forces me to run back inside my burning house to see how much it has spread. It is now in two bedrooms and our bathroom in between. I know everything will be ruined, nothing will be left ...