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This is the image that greets me. Early in the morning, shortly after the first sip of coffee.

Is there a story in me, today? Are there words beyond my usual drivel and contemplations? Inspiration? Deeper reflections? Something worth writing? Something worth reading?

Nothing invokes joy and hope within me like the possibility of the unwritten word. The story yet to be told. Forming in my mind, even as I tap the letters to make words, sentences, paragraphs.

What to leave in, what to backspace. What to emphasize, what to leave to a reader’s own thoughts and reflection.

Writing births new truths to me, even as I type my thoughts. Ideas become clearer as they become black and white on the page. Life becomes bigger, yet more intimate.

Will someone I know, someone I love, read my words today? Will some stranger in a foreign land understand and connect?

Will it make them laugh? Cry? Give them a reprieve from some heavy thing they carry? Offer hope?

Some of the greatest words of literature,

Tomorrow is always fresh. With no mistakes in it.

And so tomorrow has begun, as it is now today. I check for errors, but there may still be a few. It’s not the grammar and punctuation that I most want to get right. It’s the heart of whatever story I’m choosing to tell.

So I stop. I read and re-read. And then I publish. And start my day in earnest. Knowing that also in that endeavor, I will have mistakes. Small infractions of error. But if I can stay true to the heart of my intentions, those small missteps may not, usually don’t, matter. Not in the grand scheme.

Here’s to another new day. A new week. A new story. With no mistakes in it. Not yet.