There used to be a blog which wrote of wondrous things. His entries were filled with imagination, one I could never hope to match. The words were poetic, flying off the computer screen with the bubbling enthusiasm of a toddler trying to walk. Reading it always left me with a fuzzy feeling, like I've just been hugged.
More often that not I sit in front of the computer with my eyebrows furrowed, thinking hard. What can I say that I have never said before? Am I funny, serious, inspiring? What's my style? I feel like a writer in a mid-life crisis. And I question this rut!
Maybe it used to be easier writing when I didn't know the power of words. Twitter made me realise that with 140 characters, I could tell a joke. With 140 characters, I could be succinct. A tweet could be so much more immediate because of the time it takes to read it.
If I had twenty-four hours left in the world, I'd tell my loved ones that I love them. And then sit in a corner with a great book, with my mind and imagination, creating the greatest Universe in my head. It wouldn't matter that it wasn't real because everything comes to an end.
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