My friend told me about this journal entry she made the other night and it got me thinking about: Where the hell did my writing self go? I used to be such a dedicated writer, chronicling everything about my life, aspirations, dream scenarios, and the most mundane and random thoughts. I was never without a notebook and pen because every now and then an idea would come to mind and I would write it down because that’s the kind of person I
was am: I need to write things for me to process them clearly and truly embed them in my personal history. But now, how often do I actually truly get to write? And the most ironic thing of all is that I write for a living. Ha! I want and need to start writing for me again. I need my old self back. I’ve got my notebook and pen ready; I just need the words to flow freely again. Thoughts to words, brain to paper.