I don't consider myself to be a great writer. I will never write an award winning novel and my blog will never become internet famous. Perhaps "better than mediocre" is the category I fall under and I'm completely comfortable there. I don't strive to make writing a career, but I do enjoy it and find that sometimes putting words down can be a creative form of release. I do, however, have a writer friend that will one day change the world with her literature and last year she found herself in a bit of a rut. I put together a gift to help her find her voice again. It was just a few simple boxes with sealed envelopes inside each containing a different prompt or activity for her to write about. Some of them were quotes, some were story ideas, and some were acts of kindness - her mission was to complete the act or read the prompt and then simply write about it. Some of my personal favorites were "leave your favorite book in a public place for someone else to find" and "write about a wedding from at least three perspectives." My friend would tell me about some of the prompts she opened and you could tell she was remembering that we don't have to have a reason to write.
I'm telling you this story because one of the envelopes was misplaced and my friend thinks it found her at exactly the right moment. And it did. It found her because it needed to find me.
I'm not going to go into a long drawn out explanation of where my heart is right now. But the shortened version is... this world is so beautiful and I haven't seen enough of it.
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