blankness

Today I want to write.
I don't know where to start. I have ideas for posts, I have aspirations for my blog. I want to grow and become a better blogger. I love to write. Writing was actually my first love. Before dancing, before photography, before anything else, as a little girl I was a writer. I have a box full of poetry from my adolescent days up to my teenage years. I have pages and pages of fictional stories that I wrote just for fun, not because I had an assignment. For quite a long time I remember wanting to be an author. I loved writing, I love writing.
But I have a special relationship with writing. When I neglect writing, when I put writing off to do other things first, it doesn't come back to me very willingly. It seems to have become a bit bitter that I didn't pay attention to it sooner, writing wants me to work for it. But if I give writing my time and attention on a regular basis it comes naturally and easily, we are like old friends who have easy conversation full of meaning. Even now as I am typing this, I am deleting and re-writing sentences over and over and over.

I need to take the time to write more, because this is just too challenging. I'm annoyed.