For those that struggle to write, may I ask…
Are you alone?
Yes, I suppose I know why. Writing is that sacred act hidden in your most secret of parts, that fantasy of spinning straw words into gleaming golden yarn.
But where is your writing? What have you done with it? Why aren’t you writing anymore?
Have you shared your yarn with others who told you it was smelly straw? Have you hidden your story away in the dungeon of your heart, turned the iron lock, and tenderly pocketed the key?
If you have, dear writer, then I am sorry you were wounded so. But please, if you would, please return to that hidden place and unlock the cell. And I will come with you. I am not some nameless goblin who will enchant you with magic at the cost of your firstborn. But I sit with you and we can spin together, believing that if we sit and spin and dream and run our straw through our spindles over and over and over again we will find the magic needed to enchant our meager straw into spools of golden yarn.
And then, when you are tired, I can hold your hand, or gift you a hug, or rub your back, or fill your mind with sweat things — kindness, truth, and hope sewn together with my love. And maybe, then, you will find … if you feel your straw has gone stagnant, brittle, and rotten… that if you sit with me, work with me, that together, only together we will find that we no longer are sitting in dungeons of straw, but in troves of gold.