Are you using your time to write, or is time writing your life for you?

Twenty-five minutes ago these words didn’t exist. They weren’t here.

An hour ago, I was pacing across the kitchen floor, wondering if I should give it all in, call it quits. If I should give up.

Forty minutes ago, I didn’t know what to do. I was completely and totally on the fence, unsure which way I would fall.

Thirty-five minutes ago, I decided to sit down and just write something. Anything would be better than nothing.

Five minutes passed, and I started to type. Then I stopped. My cat nuzzled across my head and threatened to sit on my keyboard, deleting even the paltry words I’d typed so far.

Minutes passed, and thoughts raced through my mind: Am I good enough? Can I really do this? Do I even deserve to write.

And then more minutes passed, and I decided to just go for it. I could do this, if I only tried.

Twenty-five minutes ago, I typed an intro that would lead to this conclusion. I kept typing, resisting to tighten it up until later. I wrote something that looked like this, but before editing it, I thought, wait

What better way to show up my inner perfectionist than just hitting publish now, and sending it out into the ether of the internet?

So naturally, I checked Facebook for fifteen minutes.

And then after finding a suitable image, I did a quick spellcheck and hit send.

Then it was gone.

Oh well, I thought, nothing else to do for me now but write. Write more and write it all down.

Same goes for you.


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