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I am still here. Wanting to write but still so unfocused in making this happen. Someday I want to be a writer but then I know there is no someday. Just today.

I am nearing 50 and I am beginning to seriously be afraid about not fulfilling my dream. Daily there is something I need to do that I keep postponing the prescribed writing practice. And most days I question if I can really write and if it’s worth my time. But then the desire never wanes. It is always here. Quietly nudging at me. Write. Write. Write.

What will I write about?

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