Much harder than Say..

It is monumentally harder to stop and write about the flowers than it is to stop and just appreciate them-- and then move on. But still, something in me calls for me to get down in words what my heart says when it's looking out at the world.

I would like to someday be able to introduce myself as a writer; and at the same time, not of course misconstruing concepts of self with what I do for work, and yet it would so much define me to be able to say: Fabia, a writer. As of late you can call me a thinker. Or a hypothetical writer, or kinetic energy waiting for some major push to get my words rolling. Whatever you choose to call me, I am in other words stagnant. Throughout the day I may well have at least 6 ideas for my first novel but I can't manage to get those words down on any visible medium. I spend so much time thinking about words I would like to use that I forget to actually use them.

I am looking for inspiration. Correction. I will start looking for inspiration. I will put myself in places that creativity flows like..well I don't know what like because I am without the creative springs from which to pull any witty expressions from. I am in a creative dry land. I am in the drought of ohhh ten. I am hopeful yet! I will one day be able to sit in front of my shiny black laptop and novels will pour out onto it's hardware. I will successfully complete a work and be proud of it, my brain child. I will mold language into a new vessel that will carry to distant shores the very depths of my soulful expressions. And when it is all said and done and written. I will write some more. Til then, I must admit that it is much harder say than dreaming about what it would be like to do all of these things than to actually do them. I will though. I will see to it that it all gets written. Letting love be my guide.