#224 is not fiction.

"I haven't written a creative word since April ," she thought. "And now, 4 months later, it is still on my mind." That familiar, creeping sensation came that, of all things, her writing would be shuffled along like an old woman, the store is closing now, move along, get outside where we don't have to bother with you anymore. And it would be compliant. Oh, well dear old Writing would say. I wanted to purchase this lovely blouse for my granddaughter. But I'll go along now and not be a bother.
It would be overlooked like so many other pieces of her life.
Consistency.
She sighed. The only consistency seemed to be her ongoing struggle to stay with one passion long enough to mold it into something meaningful.