i’m wondering what sort of magic can come out of typing randomly for one minute? i recall being in class at different times in my life & my instructor saying ‘go ahead, write for five minutes, and don’t censor yourself, just go and go…don’t even stop even if you can’t think of something to say’ and i wrote this is stupid, what am i writing about this is not how i write yet now there is some merit in writing just to work out the kinks because writer’s block has become such a familiar friend and i’m not sure what i am anymore, and i say ‘what’ because i can’t figure out if i am a writer or an artist or both? i am still working through all of the hats i am wearing (mama, wife, teacher, writer, daughter, lost woman) and i’m still so unsure of what i will find if i walk out the other side of my own back door…

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