I had a dream last night that I was commending a younger woman, maybe 21, for publishing her first book. It almost felt as though I was talking to a different manifestation of myself. The girl was at a book release party and I was offering my praise to her for writing without consequence, indulging her talent despite the oppressive gamble that a writing profession can become, and making her way despite all the cumbersome rules and regulations of the writing world. She just wrote, simple as that. She did not fear the critics in her future. She did not read all the writing literature that could have made her feel like an unqualified impostor. She did not put down her pen when the plot puzzle seemed insolvable. She wrote, she worked, she succeeded.

This dream seemed to be a push for my later-20s self to get to it! Just write! And perhaps enjoy my productive 20s exactly as I would like them.