Painting the Canvas of life

When we are young we have a blank canvas. The paint and paintbrushes and the material we are given tends to come from our parents, luck of the draw. And as we make choices, which school to attend, what classes to take, what friends we make, we start to fill in our canvas and before you know it, you have a picture that is your life. I guess that is how people wake up and realize that they are 30 or 40 or 50. it just creeps up on you.

Once you paint a certain area it is hard to go back and correct it. It’s hard to believe that so many choices become such defining ones. Who knows what trail will lead to what.

I wonder just how different my life would be if I did not meet my husband. how would my writing career have evolved or not?

I still feel so foolish for not having anything really published or that i have unfinished scripts and a novel. Because it is all unfinished until it finds a home, no?

Sometimes I feel like I should stop calling myself a writer and just write.



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