I’ve never been the kind of writer that had a million story ideas and no clue which one to work on next. In fact, for two years I worked on nothing at all. During that time I’d fallen into many bad habits, the worst of which was not actively seeking inspiration. I started reading more, writing more, discovering that even just reading blogs and articles inspired me.
I’m the type of writer that is always brainstorming on my next project while working on my current one, so that when I’m finished I can transition smoothly to the next project. But one day recently I turned around and realized I had eight different stories I could be working on. I decided I liked the pace I was moving at: fast. And having soooo many story ideas felt like holding my arms around a giant bouquet of flowers. I had eight different rooms inside myself I could visit. Eight adorable kittens in my lap, all vying for attention.
It felt busy and wonderful. Where once I felt dead inside now I feel full of fruit. Where once I came home and had no direction, now I have purpose. I just wanted to take a moment and celebrate the hard journey. :-)