I have teetered back and forth, regarding the public viewing of this very personal and sometimes emotional blog. It is a very vulnerable thing, to bare my soul and to allow people to see into my deepest of thoughts. I have spent most of my life guarded, shutting people out. It is sometimes overwhelming and often times scary, letting people into very intimate details of my mind.  They’re private thoughts, that only God and I share. It is quite intimidating, sharing these thoughts with you, especially after visiting and reading some of your blogs. I find each one to be unique in their own special way.

Some of you are incredible story tellers. I am in awe of your vivid imagination and keen ability to write in grave detail, descriptions of vast characters, residing in exciting new places. It is obvious that most of you are well educated. Your knowledge of an elite vocabulary is extremely prominent in your writing. Your words are exquisite. Your placings of commas and semi colons are precise. Reading your blogs are much like reading a poem or sonnet. Your thoughts are wonderfully expressed and breathtakingly beautiful.

Equally so, are the blogs of talented artists. Instead of using words, you use drawings, sketches, or comic book humor. I find your blogs most intriguing. Your ability to express emotions visually, with the use of little to no words, is extraordinary and sometimes even humbling. I love seeing your perspectives on life and envy your talent.

You are each an inspiration and have touched my heart in ways only some of you can understand.

Earlier this week, someone posted a blog on what they thought a writer was and should be. His description resonated negativity and to be honest, so does much of his posts. I immediately began doubting my blog and wondered if it was even good enough to share.  I have no experience with the blogging world and have only 2 semesters of college, which is the extent of my schooling. I dropped out to take care of my twin toddlers, who demanded and rightly deserved most of my attention. I am just your average, self educated, single mother, who stumbled upon a passion for writing. 

My talent does not exceed or even compare to some of you, but the desire to express myself through written words is my form of therapy. I find it hard to speak the words I write, but when they’re on paper, it comes naturally and with ease. My mind is a jigsaw puzzle. Its pieces are complicated. There are too many thoughts, to break them down into intelligent conversation, but if I write them down, the pieces come together, to articulate the very thing I was hoping to say.

I am an informal scribbler of thoughts and emotions. So therefore, I am a writer. I write of my anger, I write of my fears, I write of my gloom, as well as my happiness. I am the author of my own personal masterpiece. I am the rough draft of an incomplete story, with the promise of becoming a best selling novel, if to no one but myself.

So in response to this writer, I want MY words to make a difference and to inspire. If you’re not writing to inspire, then why write the story? 







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