I am not sure why I stop writing when it is so necessary for my well being. I need to write and yet I set it aside for lesser things and then become rigid and frustrated and wonder why. It is when I fail to stir the creative side of myself that I become complacent in other areas of my life, but I still don't make finding time to write a priority.
I know I am a good writer. I know I have a story to tell. I know I have things stored away that need to be inked on paper, typed out in this blog, but I choose other things that do not inspire me or release me and then I am stuck, not able to find my way back to what I know I need.
I have two drafts that I need to finish and publish, but when I reread them I am unable to figure out how to finish them.
Why do I get frustrated when I see that someone else is living the dream I have, to write books, even children's books when I am not even giving a daily moment to my dream. Obviously, they are fulfilling their passion while I let mine go by the way side.
Sometimes it is hard to find my way back to where I belong when I have been gone for so long. Praying I find my way soon, so I do not lose it forever.
