she wrote something every day... just to see what happened

Since she was a little girl she had been in the habit of starting journals and diaries. There was something so compelling about that first blank page of a brand new book. So many possibilities. She had sometimes written about her day to day life. Simple stories as a child, rantings and ravings against the unfair world as a teenager, witty anecdotes as she got older and discovered her voice. She had sometimes written prose, sometimes poetry, sometimes bullet lists of to-dos and goals and dreams. She had sometimes imagined she could write something worth publishing.

But she never stuck with it. She had no full books to her name. Most things she hadn't even kept.

She had more snips and clips saved on-line now. Things she had cut and pasted for the past few years into her e-mail or her livejournal. Nothing that anyone would call a body of work, but more than she expected when she recently sat down to skim through it all.

I do love to write, she said to herself. It is something I enjoy.

I should do it every day.

For awhile at least.

Just to see what happens.