There is a blog post I just moved to the trash bin. I started it over the weekend and I gotta tell ya, it was going to be great. I was going to use big words and say things that were meaningful. You were going to love it, praise it, share it, and I would feel good about myself. Until it was awful.

What I was writing was true, it meant something to me, it was relatable. But it was also forced. Ergo, trash.

Moments come to me when I think, Why even write? Really, am I going to pen 1,000 characters about how there was mud on my shoe, my kids are adorably hilarious (which they are), I love the outdoors, I’ve read something touching, and then through all this I’ve had a grand epiphany about life?

Not to mention, I will absolutely repeat myself. I have right now, in one of my scrapbooks, two nearly identical pages of my oldest kid’s pictures from JCPenney, about five pages apart. I did the same page, twice. It will happen on WordPress too. Watch for it.
I will misspell things, never get affect and effect right, and write in fragmented prose.

BUT, it is when I read a great story, or watch one unravel scene by scene on a screen that I remember why I want to do this. I cannot get enough of a phenomenal telling.

What’s your favorite movie? Book? T.V. show?
What do you love about it? 
Me too.  

Words, they stir and they move and they teach and they connect us in a way that matters. 

I want to do that.