The foray outside of my mind

I stare at the page in the vain hopes that the words will materialize into something great. Something tangible for the other souls of this infinite online abyss to latch onto. I want to be the one to make a difference in someone's life, just as the books I have listed have made a difference in my little world. Wanting to write to be published is a never ending mind fuck. It is a gnawing thought in the back of my mind, a fluttery feeling in the depths of my heart that slows my hand as I write out a grocery list .... write the book (it whispers) .... eggs, milk, bread .... why don't you pull out the journal (it nags) .... 4 packs of chicken .... when was the last time you wrote anything other than a grocery list (it screams). I flip on the TV just to shut it up. Now,isn't that better?