I am mustering up the strength to find motivation. The inability I find myself imploring with this writing thing has taken on a whole new life. And I’m beginning to wonder if the gift truly resides within me. I’m shooting blanks, nothing strong enough to attach itself to the egg and give birth to live. Life through words, life through imagination, a life that can take on an entirely new dimension and cause people to leave their present and become one with the unimaginable. Life speaks through the waves of unprecedented words cascading across one’s heart. So why has it been so hard to pen my thoughts? It’s as if the depth within battles with procrastination and inactivity. Some moments I catch a wave of inspiration but it is so far and few. I wrote all the time when I was younger but life has a way of beating the wind out of you. And it takes a long time to recover from the beating mentally. And for a writer, mental space and quietness are so important. If I could calm my mind and find stillness I know the things that are within will soon find its way out. Have any of you ever felt backed up? Not hitting the intended target when you throw thoughts on to paper? Writer’s block I guess is what people call it. I have to unblock the blockage. Pressure is supposed to bust pipes not clog it.