The author sat at her desk, pen in hand, gazing down at the
fresh blank page in front of her. Snatches of ideas were scattered through her
mind. Fragments of storylines and characters but the words to connect them were
missing.
She took a sip of her wine and sighed.
Words and sentences and whole paragraphs used to flow so
freely from her pen…but that was before. Now, every word and sentence required
effort. Paragraphs were exhausting.
Closing her eyes, she offered up a silent prayer, a plea, to
her creative muse.
A movement at the edge of her consciousness caught her
attention. It was a figure, a young woman who seemed just out of reach.
"Relax. This is all going to work out. Look around you. Look
deep within. All those words, your gifts are still inside you. You've buried
them deep within to keep your unique talents safe but now is the time to trust
yourself and set them free. It's time to let your stories shine once more. You
have so much still to give."
"Who are you?" asked the author quietly.
"I'm Hope," replied the woman. "Go on. Pick up your pen. Let
those words flow onto the page. It's time to heal those emotional wounds and to
trust that you can reach your gifts. They are waiting for you to set them free."
The author blinked, hardly daring to believe what she'd just
heard. Hope? Was it really that simple?
She took a deep breath, glanced down at the page, and began
to write. Slowly the words stumbled onto the page then they began to gather
pace…. they began to flow.
"Keep going," whispered the voice in the distance.
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