I completed my first novel years ago, made a whisper of noise about it—and then disappeared.
Was it fear? Sure.
Was it doubt? You bet.
Did I stop writing? Bite your tongue. I’m writing even when I don’t want to.
I’ve had some life-changing events in the years since. Events that have inspired my writing endeavors (for better or for worse). I finished Like Sweet Buttermilk and then revised it (as all writers will go back). Finished a book of poetic commentaries and poetry, and then shelved it. Finished two more novels, Obscure Boundaries and Broken Benevolence, and saw those through.

The series continues…

I’m in this thing. Figuratively speaking, I’ve written myself into a corner—and don’t want to get out. Not this time. I’m reemerging as a writer, reinventing the platform, I’m…reappearing.

This is S.F. Powell: Sans Serif. A blog about my books and writing life without the extra “fluff” or flourish (mostly). It’s just me.

Is there still fear? Yep. Doubts? Plenty.

Let’s ride…