Most writers don’t struggle because they lack ideas. They struggle because they’ve been staring at the same manuscript for so long that they can no longer see what’s working and what’s weakening the story. Sometimes the pacing feels off but you can’t explain why. Sometimes the dialogue sounds right in your head but flat on the page. Sometimes you know a chapter is missing something, but you can’t identify it. That’s a normal part of the writing process. I’m curious: What’s been the hardest part of writing your current book? Is it: • pacing • character development • consistency • editing • finishing the manuscript • self-doubt • publishing • something else entirely? Writers, drop your biggest challenge below. I’d love to hear what stage you’re currently navigating.

Where are you thriving and flourishingv What has been the hardest thing you have ever gone through? What are you currently going through right now? Maybe it is something you have never talked about with anyone. Maybe it has left you hurting, confused, or wondering what God is doing. Maybe someone you love has left your life. Maybe a relationship has changed, or someone has decided to separate. Maybe your family is going through something you never expected. Maybe you are trying to hold everything together while inside, you feel like you are falling apart. Whatever it is, I want you to know something: God is in the midst of it all. He knows what He is doing, even when we don't understand it. There have been times in my own life when I have had to talk with God and simply tell Him, “I cannot do this on my own.” I needed Him close. And the truth is, we need Him close every second of every day. I don't just need God to give me the strength to do things on my own. I need His strength working through me. That is a very different kind of dependence. It is saying, “Lord, I can't do this without You. I need You. I need Your strength. I need Your wisdom. I need Your presence. Please work through me.” And isn't that what faith is sometimes? Leaning into Him when we don't have the answers. Trusting Him when we cannot see the whole picture. Believing He is working even when everything around us seems to be falling apart. 🌱 Look at the Flowers Have you ever really stopped and looked at a blooming scene? There is something beautiful about flowers. Each one grows differently. Some bloom quickly, while others take their time. Some need more sunlight. Some need more water. Some seem to thrive where we would never expect them to grow. And sometimes, the most beautiful blooms come after difficult weather. That makes me think about us. We can look at someone else's life and think they are flourishing while we are struggling just to make it through the day. We can wonder why their life seems to be blooming while ours feels like it is stuck beneath the soil.

Have you ever had so much fun with words that you've made up one or two, or more? I like to refer to banannas as banaynays. What is your favorite made up or misconzounsed word?

Y’all, this is by far my favorite story. I am writing a continuation of this story because it flowed and opened up so well. May you be Blessed as I am. After all that she had suffered or lost, her life was about to change for the better. The morning air was crisp, and as she laced up her shoes, the heavy silence that used to fill her room finally felt like peace instead of loneliness. She pushed open the front door and stepped onto the porch. The world outside hadn’t changed—the old maple tree still shed its golden leaves onto the drive, and the distant hum of early traffic remained—but she had. Reaching into her pocket, her fingers brushed against the cool, smooth brass key to the tiny studio space downtown. It was modest, rough around the edges, and entirely hers. With a deep breath that filled her lungs for what felt like the first time in months, she set off down the sidewalk, her footsteps light against the pavement. Maya couldn’t wait to get to the studio to start the painting she was planning the moment she got there. As she unlocked the heavy glass door, the familiar scent of linseed oil and fresh canvas greeted her like an old friend. Sunlight poured through the tall arched windows, illuminating the blank canvas resting on the easel in the center of the room. She set her bag down, rolled up her sleeves, and squeezed bright, vibrant ribbons of paint onto her wooden palette. As Maya started painting with purple, gold, and lavender, she noticed how the colors blended well together, making her feel calm. She could just imagine the smooth, radiant glisten of the colors becoming so much more than she ever realized. With every movement of her wrist, the heavy violet bled into soft lavender, while streaks of gold caught the morning light like sunshine breaking through clouds. The canvas was turning into a quiet sanctuary, reflecting the peace she was finally allowing herself to feel. The paint glided across the texture of the linen, creating sweeping, radiant waves that looked almost alive.

This was a really fun one to do. The prompt was an object! What kind of stories can you come up with an object? You may not see Bubbles the pen as something vital to you. However, for some people it is a vital part of their day. In fact, authors, composers, artists, and journalists use this vital object; just to name a few. In this story, let’s get to know Bubbles, the Red Pen! The pen I write with is red, and I decided to name her Bubbles. You see Bubbles has been with me for a little while now. She loves sliding on the page, turning with every stroke that I write. In fact, Bubbles loves to see each adventure as it unfolds with each new character and scene of a story that is written. What Bubbles likes best is the gratitude list that is made almost every day. Feeling the emotions of each character and recording the gratitude for each day made Bubbles feel so bubbly that she could hardly contain her excitement. However, Bubbles is grateful for the rest she gets because it sure is tiring by the end of the writing. One day, Bubbles awoke to the familiar feeling of being picked up and placed on the page. She tries once. Nothing.
 She tries again. Still nothing.
She wonders what’s wrong.
She begins to wonder if she will ever write again.
 Her owner realized what was wrong and replaced what Bubbles needed. Suddenly, Bubbles felt a jolt of energy as she glided along the curves and turns of the strokes on the page. Bubbles lived for this excitement. She always loved the way she could move, twist, turn, color, and so much more. Sometimes we aren’t broken. Sometimes we’re simply empty and need to be refilled. Bubbles isn’t valuable because she’s a red pen. She’s valuable because of what she is able to do when she has what she needs. “Am I broken, or am I simply empty and in need of being refilled?”