Some days, writing is like having a conversation with an old friend. It flows easy over a cup of coffee, reminiscing and enjoying the sound and feel of old company. It’s comfortable. It’s familiar. It feels… therapeutic. Other days, writing feels like a blind date. Awkward. Difficult. Like two people who are never on the same page, unsure of each other and dancing around the issues.
Today is the second of those days.
I write anyway. I write even if it’s terrible writing and I know I’ll just delete it tomorrow. I write because I’m afraid that if I give in to the writer’s block, I’ll put down my pen (or more accurately, my keyboard), and I’ll never pick it up again. Because each day that I avoid it will get harder and harder and I’ll move further away from it.
If only I could tackle everything in my life with such grace and maturity…