Keri Reads

One cannot simply go on hiatus for four years, without a prosaic “I’m back” post. The prodigal blogger has returned! 

Stepping away was both unintentional and intentional. The simple answer is that Writing and I went through a rough patch. I became disillusioned with my beloved craft. Writing used to make me feel so empowered, so full, so confident. And then suddenly it made me feel the opposite; I was not enough – not talented enough, not disciplined enough, not good enough. When I was a teenager, I found writing as a form of therapy; it was something I treasured and loved. And all of a sudden, I couldn’t bring myself to write or even think about writing.

My dream had always been to be a writer, to one day write a book, to see my name on a bookstore shelf. I self-published a small novella around 2010/2011. I worked for a publisher at the time and befriended colleagues with editing experience. They helped shape my novella and I felt so accomplished and hopeful, like my little dream could be achieved. In reality, I had been naive. The person who helped me the most, helped shape my book the most, who gained the most of my trust, was not interested in my writing, but rather in pursuing me. After my book was self-published, I found myself in an extremely uncomfortable position, facing sexual harassment and unwanted attention. I ultimately left my job (that I loved) because of it. And in the wake of everything that transpired, my little novella that I had been so proud of, became tainted. 

In the 14 years that followed, there were times I thought I could still be a writer, but uncertainty and anxiety reared their ugly heads. I’ve started and stopped so many writing projects because I truly believed deep down inside that I was not good enough. Four years ago, I felt it was time to give up on the dream of being a writer. That not all dreams were meant to come true and that it was OK to move on, to let go. And for four years, I’ve written very little, aside from captions on #bookstagram posts and journaling. I thought I could let Writing go. I thought it was what I needed to do.

But a few nights ago, I felt a strong urge to write. I realized that I do want to write and blog again. Writers write. By not writing, I was no longer a writer. That thought stirred something and then broke it open: Writer is an identity that I am unwilling to give up. 

So here I am, writing, after I put my son to bed. And damn, does it feel good to stretch my writing muscles again!

Will I ever be a traditionally published writer? Maybe not. But that doesn’t make me a writer. This – putting pen to paper – makes me a writer. Not my 9-5, not my popularity, not whether I am published. This blog, Keri Reads, is my small corner of the internet where I can write to my heart’s desire about anything and everything I want to write about. And I don’t want it to stay unused. So here I am, writing.

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Some life stuff highlights from the past four years:

• My husband and I bought a house in 2020, right before the world stilled to a stop during the global Covid-19 pandemic. It was a moment of hope and happiness (albeit stressful) in an otherwise dreadful year. 
• And in 2022, we welcomed our son into the world. He is my sunshine and will be two years old in the coming weeks. (I am happy to admit that he seems to already share his mom’s love of books!)