(posted late and out of sequence, but better late than never)
Sometimes I feel like I am bursting at the seams with inspiration for stories that never seem to actually get written, or they start and then they get abandoned. Other times, my brain is silent, seeking inspiration in meaningful actions, deeds, words, moments. Like when a group of strangers on a bus helps an elderly lady take her seat – one holding her packages, one holding her hand, another clearing a path for her, and the fourth vacating the seat to stand so that she might sit.
It’d be nice to strike a balance, to strive to participate in moments of kindess that inspire as well as commit to being a writer more earnestly. After all, those books are never going to write themselves.