Friends,
There’s a particular kind of quiet courage required to look at the work in front of you—unfinished, unpublished, still finding its shape—and say the words out loud:
I am a writer.
Not “aspiring.” Not “trying to be.” Just… writer.
Olivia O’Sullivan recently sat with a series of questions about that exact threshold. What follows is her honest, unguarded set of answers. She writes as a teacher, a tennis coach, a woman still in the long unpublished season, and someone who is learning that the act of writing itself is enough to make the name true.
Her responses are full of rooms that finally feel like her own, tennis metaphors about playing at the net, the ache of wanting to be kind above all else, and the quiet discovery that she has capacity to love more characters (and more of herself) than she once believed possible.
Let Olivia know which points resonated with you.
With you in the long becoming,
Brandy
Read the feature here: