Is writing, right? I mull the questi on over in my head for the thousandth time today. Is this what I was really born to do. I had just gotten home from a stint of two hours with my ailing mother, followed by three hours with my daughter and my two adorable grandchildren, who had visited afterward. Now alone, after my family of five had retired upstairs I sat for the thousandth time staring at my tablet at a various blog post from other writers that made it into freelance writing and wondered yet again should i. should I really. I had been trying for the most parts of my fifty years to write, to get published, anything. Many times too much to mention I had given up and gotten myself manual jobs, in which I had toiled relentlessly to help my husband provide bread for our children. Some of these include kitchen assistant, laborer on a friend's construction site, painting houses to name a few. Over the years I had put pen to paper and drafted as much as four complet