When Your Own Words Come Back to Kick Ya in the...Butt

I just rediscovered this blog of mine that I'd started sometime last year. Back then, I was certain I'd keep up with it everyday, but I lost interest in it very early on.

And then I somehow came across a post I'd written (just below) about letting out the artist in you. I realized as I re-read my own words that I haven't been living by them and I felt like I needed to re-post them to remind myself of why it is that I continue to struggle in my efforts to make this writing thing work: it is whom I am.

I am writing. Writing is me.

And every single time I try to push it to the side or walk away from it altogether, I feel a piece of myself fade. I feel choked in my spirit. But when I pick up my pen again and put it to paper, I breathe. In and out, in and out. And I am alive.

If only I could make a living at this. Catch the attention of the right (checking-writing decision-making) literary people.

Perhaps soon.