It has been years since I really worked at writing. After years being blessed with freelance work for our local Catholic newspaper, I had to step away when our 4th child was on her way. Now, with her youngest sibling nearing her 3rd birthday, writing seems to be coming back into focus. Although I truly was in love with my writing assignments for our local paper in the past, I have felt a tug to write something of my own. But the “right” subject or topic never seemed to be presenting itself. So I would dutifully jot down the writing ideas that came to me without any inspiring projects jumping to the foreground. I would come back to the same logic every time: until something is nagging at me to write about it, I should (like every great writer) just keep reading. Perhaps that was my largest writing hurdle over the last 9 years. Finding time to read (and stay awake) was challenging in my sleep deprived mommy years. So this last year of getting back to reading has been the greatest gift I could give to my own writing. In reading, I uncovered a passion for the story of human life. The journey humans take to is absolutely fascinating to me. Each one being just as compelling, tragic, inspiring as the last, I find I devour memoirs and biographies from all directions of life. So it hit me one day, that the greatest story (right now) that I have to tell, is my own. I use the stories of my life all the time, with friends, other moms, my children, as examples of things I’ve figured out or struggled with on my journey. So, recently I began my new project. One that has already been developed, and has only to be documented and streamlined. Whether anyone else will ever read it, is not something I will concern myself with now. At least I have begun! And it feels like the right writing project for me. Finally.