I struggle to write.

I sit on the sofa, my favorite place to be. Doesn't feel right.

I move to the wonderful, inherited-from-Harriet-chair in the bedroom, which is always inspiring.

No.

I pray — that has to be right.

… … …

I would rather write five thousand blog posts than write the short story that God is blinking at me today.

Blink: write.

Blink: it needs to be written.

Blink: it's hard I know.

And blink: write.

Ugh.

It's a short story to be published in a very-near-future anthology of short, fiction stories, all bearing the marks of pain, hope, letting God crucify our flesh and love us. He does that at the same time and through the same sometimes ugly mess. Stories about running from, then to.

This last one is about being sad as we look in the mirror — terrified, actually — and along comes the truth of who we really are.

Coming to you soon.

Yeah. I just have to sit here and write it!

Sigh.