a day in the life of a bowhead

somewhere deep deep inside of me there is a writer. she longs to come out. this has been a constant struggle. i feel the words, thoughts and feelings desperately fighting to emerge, yet nothing comes. there are no words, there are no thoughts and there are no feelings. where does this come from? why is it they are so palpable and yet so unattainable? my coven has amazing writers. writers who write daily, writers who write sporadically, but all of them are so … sigh … beautiful. so sage. so true. so revealing. do i not write because i am then exposing myself? do i not write because the talent is just not there? do i not write because something is wrong with me at a base level? i dont know these answers, but i long for them.

good feelings, precious thoughts and loving embraces are being sent to all of you across the miles on this cold, rainy, icy day.