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When I was a kid, I wrote stories all the time. I never considered myself a writer, per se. Maybe because of imposter syndrome, although I probably wouldn't have called it that at the time. I remember sharing stories in school, passing them out to friends and letting them read them. I wrote a particularly terrible story about a friend group that would pass more for a daytime soap opera than anything else.

I also remember one girl in fourth grade making a comment about me sharing my stories... "Do you think you're a good writer or something?"

For a really long time, I let that comment keep me from writing. Maybe I wasn't a good writer, after all. Maybe what I was writing wasn't worth reading. So I just let it go.

Until something happened in my life that spiked my anxiety and I needed an outlet.

I wrote some things down—ideas that served as the basis for Meet Me at Home.

Far too many years (and drafts) later, she's a whole novel and she's finally going to live in the world.

And I finally consider myself a writer.

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