There Was This Girl

Once upon a time, there was a girl.

A girl with stars in her eyes and Jesus in her heart.

A girl who had just discovered how stories work—how she could put those wild ideas tumbling through her head into words, string those words into sentences, chapters, and stories.

And she did just that, every chance she got. Half of the stories were slightly unbelievable. Most of the stories were never finished. But they all had special beginnings, in things she saw or experienced or observed.

That same girl carried around a pocket-sized notebook in the back pocket of her denim cut-offs for when inspiration struck. She ran barefoot through the field to the chicken coop and ended up sitting in the shade scribbling down her thoughts, instead of gathering eggs and checking the water.

But then...then she grew up, like all kids do whether they like it or not. (This would be a case of 'not.')

And writing became something she didn't have as much time or imagination for, sad as that sounds. She was of the mind that if she wasn't writing something good, it wasn't worth the effort. If it needed polishing, it must not be right. She blamed it on writers block, on lack of inspiration.

She forgot that her best stories started when she scribbled things down without waiting to name the characters, overlooking punctuation and spelling accuracy in her hurry to grab hold of the ideas before they slipped away. She forgot that inspiration is something that comes and goes, and not "having it" doesn't make you inferior.

Something as beautiful, intricate, and fascinating as creating people, worlds, and tales from twenty-six tiny shapes we called letters should never be considered a drudgery, second-rate, or stupid.

If you don't feel like writing, that's okay. That doesn't make you any less of a writer. If you need to take a break and get some perspective, take it. And then if you still want to write, chase that dream. And if you don't, be okay with letting it go. Basically, let it be a joy—don't turn it into a chore.

You see, this barefoot girl is starting to realize that.

The girl that never really left, just got confused and caught up in things that don't matter as much as she thought they did.

The girl who still has stars in her eyes and Jesus in her heart.

The girl who's rediscovering the simplistic miracle that takes place when a dreamer with a story in their heart puts pen to paper.

And that girl just placed a small notebook and pencil on the end of her desk, to stick in her back pocket sometime. Because she sees what really matters—and she's going to get back to that.

if you write, how did you start out? (and if you came to 

this post expecting Riley Green, then I'm sorry to disappoint...)