Two years ago I began a walk from Sheboygan, Wisconsin along "Plank Road". It was the only way to go to get to my next stop. At the time I thought the name of the road similar to my anxious feeling of venturing to the unknown, like "walking the plank" before plunging into deep water.
The next day I was in an area called "the Kettles". I knew we were in "the stew" then. That walk led me to the headwaters of the Mississippi, through seven states before we reached my goal, I saw a snowflake, five months later.
This week I am working on the writing project. Like starting upon the Plank Road, stepping off the edge, into the Kettle; I am apprehensive... willing to see it through, however long it takes.
How hard can it be to write?