Since I first decided to be a writer, I've dreamed of writing books. I have part of a novel written; I have compiled a rough collection of Advent essays; I have even outlined an entire book on modesty for young women.
All of these manuscripts live in the recesses of my laptop memory card, only bits and pieces have seen the light of day. Some of these words have never been read by anyone but their mama. That's me, the one who painfully birthed these phrases and sentences, only to keep them hidden.