Have you ever read a manifesto and cried? I read The Writer’s Manifesto, cried, and wrote this letter.
I love you. I didn’t realise how much I love you until I find myself thinking about you every day.
I think of you when I’m driving.
I think of you when I’m walking.
I think of you when I’m eating.
I think of expressing my love for God through you when I’m worshipping.
I think of you when I read.
I think of you when I’m about to go to sleep.
I miss you when I’m not with you.
But, when I finally have the time to be with you!…I find all these pent-up desires have turned me into a pAranOid mEss—I greedily want to write about everything at once. I worry about writing things that people wanna read. I fret, I frown, I Google, I read my own blog, and of others. I do a lot of other things, anything but being with you.
Back when I was a naive writer, I write—often, freely.
Heart to paper. Heart to screen.
Then came—10 ways to drive traffic to your blog, 1000 ways to find your niche in blogging; along with endless e-courses that promise blog stardom.
And my love for you got complicated.
So, I left a piece of my heart with you—and walked away.
But like a love addict—I found myself coming back to you, the cursor on the blank screen, blinking at me; taunting my inability to reach out to you.
This toxic love tangle went on for 1095 days…and I want it to stop.
I want to return to the love that was once unadulterated, unafraid, pure, passionate.
Will you have me back?
Left to their own devices, creators are sometimes crazy. They have to be. It’s the only way they know how to break free, create, and live.
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