I started out doing well. But then I hit a massive block. Now it won’t stop ‘popping up’ when I’m not expecting it. It makes me want to cry and scream A LOT.
When I started writing at 15 (I’m putting an average age since I wasn’t serious about it until 16, but actually started around the age of 14), it was mostly what you might call ‘doodling’. I didn’t really know what I was doing, and I honestly didn’t think I’d keep being interested in this semi-archaic form of creativity. Let’s be honest: At the time I started writing, computers had already become fairly popular. I’d had several different ones (mostly because of my tendency to not be careful with them.
Okay. Most of the time it was actually because my dad said it was “outdated” and I needed an upgrade. But lately, it’s been my own fault and carelessness. I have only myself to blame for it.
Anyway, those years–[few] though they were–worked out phenomenally. Well, in a way. I still had school to attend, and church, as well. I still go to worship the Lord, actually, but it used to be more of an ‘obligation’ then. Not so, now.
The Lord has played a major role in my life. Perhaps more than one might think possible. When I had those health issues almost 20 years ago, my life was quite literally ‘in the balance’. No one could be 100% certain I would live to see another day. Not my parents or family friends, or people who came to visit me–perhaps for the last time. Not even the hospital staff knew.
Let’s face it, people die every day. Even in hospitals, where they often get the best care possible. And my situation was pretty serious, even by hospital standards (I think; I’ll have to ask about that).
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