She was a little girl and her Mother bought her a diary. It was a Mary Poppin’s Diary with a lock. She loved that diary and wrote all her secrets within and locked them away.
As she grew she would write sometimes and as she wrote she dreamed of writing always. She dreamed that she was a writer and that she had something very important to say. And then life got a hold of her and she wandered off to live and stuff.
There were times when the sadness of life tied her all up in knots and she couldn’t get undone.. then, she would write her way out of it… and again, dream of being a writer but lost her pen and carried on with living.
Sometimes she swore she had entered heaven and had to document every breath she took and wrote it all down.. and then she misplaced her journal and dropped her pen in a puddle and walked on into her life.
Well, now… she must write. Now is time. There is no plan.
And so… she shall write.