A flower in my hair

A number of smaller things have happened, though none the less intriguing. Though I may be unable to remember what they all were exactly, on the days they might have happened, I am left with the feeling or the sense of what they were. A flower bud trapped in the hair from a bush. A dance in song with the Lord during worship. A sense of belonging and the feeling of friendship, from those who genuinely want to know you.
 The rush of feeling the urge to write again. And listening this time. Beginning to understand my own self and my own writing, or lack thereof.
 Last November I wrote almost 28,000 words of what I attempted to make into a romance novel. I however was vastly unsuccessful. Whether it be poor beginning planning, or simply how it was supposed to turn out for it being year one in NaNoWriMo.
 I don't think the first draft was useless, I just most likely wont end up doing a lot with it now that I have begun again, and it is going the way I wished it to be. I will still follow it and the characters, exploring the different paths they may try to lead me down. But I am the writer, and I will peek down those paths before going to far, and if I don't like where the road winds, then who says I have to go there. For I am the writer of my stories, yet I will listen when prompted to go elsewhere. And I am easily distracted by those tiny little rabbit trails that ultimately lead nowhere. Some of them are not so. But this story is different. And so am I. Although it is still me, this one will be different. Because I know what I want these characters to do, unlike many others in other stories. And it is because of that simple little detail, that I know I will finish this story. Whether it be a November or no.

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