It is not easy to write. Sometimes it can be, ideas can flow through the ends of fingers and pens, smoothing themselves out on the page and settling their feathers in contentment, getting along very well indeed. Other times, one feels an urge to scour their very brains. Are these ideas really mine? Am I writing to please certain people? Why aren’t these thoughts merging together, why is this sounding so gaudy and cheap? If I were to read this aloud, I would cringe! How can I write an entire book when my ideas keep changing, developing?

It also appears that nobody seems to be fully satisfied with what they have written. Always room for improvement, always a better way to put things. I know I feel like that. I read so many blogs and am enthralled  by what these voices have to say. I think, well WHY can’t I…