The Empty Page

Writing is hard.

I often get writing ideas in the middle of my workday. Since I don't write for a living, unfortunately or fortunately, I couldn't just start typing away what was in my mind. When I get home, the idea is gone and I'm too tired to try to reconstruct it.

The world isn't going to miss my writing, although I wish it did. No matter, I still press on. That's the important thing. The horizon ahead waits. Whether windmills or mountains lie ahead, it doesn't matter.

It only matters that I write.

PS: I really ought to cut down on the drama.