I'm Just Not the Same

I write. A lot. I write so much that I often have to spend time cleaning up computers and pruning notebooks. Volumes and volumes of notebooks I complete each year. Sometimes, it is a poem, other times a short story. Many times it is random thoughts meant for me to piece together bit by bit at a later time.

Sometimes it is just a Facebook status. I can write an entire article for newspapers in one sitting. Just last week, I wrote a 1300 word short story for a magazine and proofed it in 2  hours. Why do I sit and stare at a screen in hopes that something  will come to me?

I am a story teller. I tell true stories about my day, my family, my quirky life. Usually humorous, (My daughter believing the words ignoring and imploring were the same word until age 11), often inspiring, (when Zach spoke 16 spontaneous words in a row for the first time) I want what I write to mean something. I want to make others laugh, experience joy, not feel so alone, make their own life experience not as burdensome. I want people to feel hope, experience change, decide to do things differently and to be an encouragement. Yes, even with a Facebook post.

What happens most often? I end up deleting what I have written, because I am just not the same person I was 6 minutes ago. Also, there is an error in the attached picture, so I better just scratch this whole thing.
🙄