What I’ve realized is that I didn’t see myself as a writer because I was turning off my creativity. I was writing user manuals and release notes when I wanted to be writing stories. I was turning off the part of my brain that had something to say. I’ve always had the means to tell my story; I just didn’t realize I could.
I want to write my story and release it out into the world, and then I want to keep writing. I want to find creative manuscripts that have something to say and help turn that manuscript into a finished book. I want to feel that feeling I had as a child when that first newsletter would come off the copy machine in my mom’s office.
All we have to do is choose one of those prompts and put 250 words to paper. But I can’t do it today. It’s just 250 words, but I feel overwhelmed by the prompt.
There are so many things I wish I had known when I was first diagnosed. How would I narrow it down to only one thing AND condense that one thing down to 35 seconds? I finally narrowed it down to this: You have to be your own biggest advocate.
Someone in my past once told me that I had “nothing interesting to say,” and that has stuck with me for 20 years now. Because of that, I have at times avoided sharing my writing, sometimes even avoided writing at all.
Her blonde hair is in a side ponytail in this dream; she is wearing the yellow shirt she wears in all my other dreams. It's not bright yellow, but I think it used to be. I don't remember the other dreams I've seen her in, but I remember her. I think she makes me feel safe? I'm not sure. / *TW: death
Robyn Weaver 