I wrote a story today.
It was about a small boy who grew up homeless; no scratch that. It was about a man who had a corporate job and lost it; no scratch that. It was about a woman fighting for her marriage to the man with a corporate job; no scratch that.

I wrote a story today.
It was about a lady who had this computer and was, well, how shall I put it, trying to write a story. All these ideas and none more than a mere passing thought. She would start a sentence and scratch it because it seemed doomed from the start. She was her own worst critic. She often yelled at the keyboard in frustration.
Then, out of the blue, came a brilliant idea. Well, brilliant to her anyway.
So she wrote a story.

It was published and she brushed the writer’s block off her shoulder and wrote another. She continued until one day she re-read one of her brilliant stories and noticed an error. She edited her story. Then edited it again, until eventually the story was one sentence.

I wrote a story today.