I've been having such a struggle with my writing lately. Each word, every sentence is dragged slowly and painfully into form. Sometimes, it's so difficult, I wonder if I'll ever be able to finish this book.
So today, I decided that, instead of struggling with putting stuff down on paper, I would go back and reread some of what I had already written. And I love it. I find it hard to imagine that I ever wrote it.
And that made me think about life itself. The day to day details are so difficult sometimes that we wonder if we will ever make it through, but when we get to the end and we can see our whole story, will we be awe struck at what we were able create?
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