No one else can do it for her. It is hers. She owns it.

She has many selves within her. Some constant, some not. Her writer self has been in a dormant stage, cocooning away on quick snatches of reading escapades - fit into a world  so busy that she's not sure sometimes if she can keep moving forward. But, she does... These last weeks of wrapping up another school year for her children are a juggle fest of working full-time, multiple school events,  baseball play-offs, and volunteering. Life is full.

At first she raged inwardly at the injustice of not having enough time to write. Then she stewed and wept. Now?  She's feeling justified in her stalemate. She can't be forced out of her hole, having reached a certain comfort level of vague indifference. No... she will have to be both inveigler and resolute victor...finding the rhythms again. Embracing her saucy and her veracity. No one else can do it for her. It is hers. She owns it.

Her writer self is here, lying in wait. Just under the surface. Everyone has a calling. She, alone, has to realize that her calling has validity and value, because she can't live without it...

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