words lost and found. A new start.
And yet writing is not special. Writers are not gods. Ego has no place within the walls of the writer's room.
This is not a glamorous profession. This is a down and dirty, heart-breaking, sometimes elevating, mostly frustrating, job. The right words, ones that strike the heart and intrigue the mind, can be impossible to find and so easily lost.
I found, then lost, my own words years ago. I had never realised how important they were to me. I watched them go, saw it happen in slow-motion. They simply packed themselves up and walked out of my life. I didn't understand why, maybe my father's death, possibly the continual stress of an unfortunate time in my history. But they were gone. My mind emptied. The echo was unnerving.
I restarted my jewellery business. It helped. Still, I longed for those words. Could feel them brushing the tips of my fingers but couldn't hold them in my hand. I knew they were there, somewhere, and after a long time running down back alleys, searching the ocean floor, pleading with them to return home to me, I have now seen them in the distance. I will not call nor will I force myself on them. I will let them see me. And I will wait.
Our hiatus-ending competition is in the works and an announcement is on the horizon. This will be the beginning of an anthology series. A niche, genre-bending, ecstatic and quirky adventure destined to bring us together with new writers and those we've know before. It's our chance to start fresh yet with the same high standards and commitment to quality that we've always embraced.
We hope you'll be here with us.