A poet friend offered a challenge: Could I write 100 poems in 100 days? More than that: Would I share them with a group of strangers?
Some days words flew; other days I floundered. I kept writing. Almost three hundred poems later, I write every day.
You can do this, too.
It doesn't have to be good or, rather, I don't have to be, Mary said as her geese flew toward greener things
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