Can I Write?

When we still lived in a small one bedroom apartment, newlyweds with the huge box of a computer sitting on a tv stand in the kitchen, I began a project. It began while my daughter was still forming in my womb, and continued as I typed with a tiny newborn sleeping in my lap, but then, I hit a block.

I believe it's are called "writer's block". Or maybe, if we're quite honest, it's called "lazy" and "busy"...

...either way, it hasn't been touched since that apartment. And that was in 2005. We have had two homes since then, added another kid, and changed jobs. But, there's a part of my heart that is still longing to complete the project, even though it is still title-less.

Well, kinda title-less. I have it titled in my external hard drive, but I'm not sure if I like it's name. Or if it's even a real title, or more of a quick name I gave it so I knew what the file was.

At this point, it's called "Lost Shoes Book" in my hard drive. It has somehow continued to stick with my files and is grasping onto some hope that I will, someday, re-visit it and complete it. And in all honestly, I'm not sure why I never finished it. It may be the closest I have ever gotten to completing something big. (Have I mentioned before that I have Starter Syndrome?)

I just cracked open the folder in my hard drive. Seventeen chapters short stories completed. I don't even remember half of them. But I read through them, and with my awful memory, it was almost like reading a real book that I've never read before. (Haha! How pathetic!)

Seriously though, I want to finish that book. I want it so badly. I want to finish it and publish it. I want to do it well and do it right. I want it so much I can taste it....

Ugh. Why do I do this to myself?