where the writers are
Cold & Confused?

The cold weather outside has the fires inside my heart semi-dampened.  My birthday is at the end of this month and it causes me to shudder that I have yet to accomplish the things that I thought I would when my mind and my spirit were more youthful.  There are days when I feel more alive and energetic that I ever did.  Other days, I still feel as if there is so much more to do.  Where is the novel that I dreamed I would write?  In my mind, I feel as though I am working myself to death.  Outside my mind, there is no evidence of that.  There are ideas of stories that fly through my head on a daily basis, only to be lost as soon as I grab a pen and a piece of paper.  Or the ideas never come out as I want them to.  Frustrating, to say the least or how about getting lost in the feeling and lacking the words or the way to describe what is felt?  But it's all good.  All hope is not lost.  I will, once again, dust out the cobwebbs and hope that the spider still lives.  I have my warmest socks on today.  Perhaps the heat on my feet will fan the flames in my heart and move the words to spill out.  Writer's block sucks.