I don’t want to be empty. Empty means I have nothing to give. Some things give the illusion of fulfillment but I still feel (and am) empty on the other side of it.
Writing is a great thing. Without writing there would be no reading. Without writing learning new things would be a whole different ball game. I’m so thankful for the writing of so many friends who write online, in real life friends and online ones, ones I’ve met and some who have no idea I exist.
But… reading too much online empties me. Too many thoughts and ideas, even good ones swirling in my head turn it to mud.
As an early Indiana Spring is beginning to show and new growth is about to explode I’m to be ready to watch it. This new season, our first Spring in this house means a fresh garden to till and plant, and many hours spent in the fresh air.
I’ve been quiet with my writing and it’s been freeing. The quietness is filling. I’ve read a great deal on writing, whether it shows, I’m not so sure. I’ve researched into the “right way” to write and might not be so good at following those directions. But I’m still here, just enjoying less screen time and more sky time.
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