I find myself with a predicament these days. I want to write. Poems, plays, articles, novels, children’s books. I want to write them all. I even have time to write. I just don’t know what to write about. Bits and pieces of ideas will come to me, but nothing that I can picture expanding into content for an entire post or project. Part of me tells me that I shouldn’t even be writing this post if I don’t have anything to say. A different part of me tells me that the only way to wiggle out of this wordless emptiness is to begin sifting through the words to discover what they hold.
September was a Month
September was a Month
September was a Month
I find myself with a predicament these days. I want to write. Poems, plays, articles, novels, children’s books. I want to write them all. I even have time to write. I just don’t know what to write about. Bits and pieces of ideas will come to me, but nothing that I can picture expanding into content for an entire post or project. Part of me tells me that I shouldn’t even be writing this post if I don’t have anything to say. A different part of me tells me that the only way to wiggle out of this wordless emptiness is to begin sifting through the words to discover what they hold.