It's been a busy week, it has. I really haven't worked on my novel; it's just sitting there crying, feeling my neglect. I plan to give it some love tonight, even though I won't have it completed by next week's deadline. At least I got it started.
I've found my prose muse again, and I'm writing up some stuff and hoping that I won't be afraid to let the world see. I used to be more bold, but I'm tired of feeling like I'm shouting in an empty room. I've taken a walk outside, I've breathed clean air and felt the sun on my face. I'm ready to write, stronger and better than before. It feels good to break out of the conventional way of doing things.
My family came to visit this week. It was great to see them all again, they're growing up so fast, changing so much in such a short time it seems. I'm proud of them for the good changes they made, and praying for them for the challenges they face.
I'm working on a short story titled "My Dear Child." I know I'm supposed to be working on The Familiar Stranger, but the inspiration for this story just hit me and I was compelled to devote myself to it. I like this story, it's coming out in an informal style with a bit of irony, mystery, and sorrow.
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