In a writing rut? Just write. Even if it doesn’t make sense, I swear it’ll somehow end up making sense. Even if it doesn’t. If that makes sense. It doesn’t have to be perfectly profound.
“She’s not sun-kissed, she kisses the sun. She grew her own roses before she was ever given one…” – These are a few lines from a poem I wrote while sitting on the beach years
It was such a wonderful/almost surreal thing to open one of the most gorgeous magazines ever…to see something I wrote on one of the first pages. Right after a quote from Robert Frost. Pinch me.