Joined in August 2017
I woke up in the morning tossing and turning in the same bedroom walls that confined me for 19 years, stuck behind a white picket fence and engulfed by the comfort and safety of the suburbs. I wiped my eyes in hope of ridding the lassitude and found myself alone; friends long gone and miles away, winters curse just around the corner.
My days dissolved into weeks, months, and I counted my change until I had enough money to send me 1,000 miles down the east coast. In the time between, I kept the heat of my laptop close, nose pressed to the screen in search of finding other writers who shared the same feeling of stagnancy, who understood my plight.
The realization that I had been confined by fear my whole life made me sick with unease. I searched my old files for drafted emails, wistful poetry, and letters I had never sent.
2 A.M. writing made me courageous and submit my work that I was sure would go unnoticed, unread. But, when I received a reply, I picked up my head like restless child and delved into the seemingly infinite white paper, pen in hand.
Writing for The Odyssey is a revelation, an opportunity to diverge from cliches and to figure out the truth; to feel hunger and hatred, passion and lust, sex and angst, and release and surrender. Writing for The Odyssey makes a writer exposed and enlightened, infinite in every way miraculous.
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