There was a time in my life when my spare time was spent writing.  Late into the night.  Writing.  Creating.

My fingers could not type fast enough to get my thoughts onto the screen.  And before that, I typed on my Smith-Corona electric typewriter that my parents gave me for high school graduation.  And even earlier, I used #2 pencils and black ink pens to scribble my poems and stories onto lined paper. The margins contained notes and scribbles--my muse encouraging me to continue writing.

But lately I have not been writing creatively at all. I realize that I have allowed too many other distractions to pull me away from my creative endeavors.  My craft has become lost through electronic gadget access.  Television and DVRs wooing me to watch and the Internet beckons me to surf and I do; instead of writing.

While all along, inside of my head, there are still amazing plots to expand; anguish painted and soul searched poems to write, imagined mysteries to solve, characters impatiently waiting to come to life. But instead, I neglect them and sometimes cannot hear them anymore.  But they are still there.

I must find a quiet corner niche for me to hide away and write. I must be diligent.  I must nurture and listen to my muse and allow my creativity to spill out once again. 

I must.  I will. 

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