Decongesting My Mind

Speaking with my writer friend Ken, last week, I got a bit flustered. See, when he talks about writing, he sounds almost like Bush talking about America. When he speaks, you can see a light taking form, and glowing in his otherwise cool eyes. He believes in writing; the power and charge it can create in one.Truth is,when he speaks,I don’t want him to stop,because I have seen his work and he challenges me seeing that for every five stories he writes, I have written a cheap poem that doesn’t rhyme and read a Maeve Binchy. So after, I was talking to my friend Emily and I though out aloud-I’m I really a writer or just a very good reader? Could I do better as a critic? She laughed, and told me I should try writing about things that happened in my past, things I know well, instead of trying to create stories all the time.
She reminded me of a story I once narrated to her.About a boy who had a thing for me when I was fourteen and I had no clue.
-You could write such, I’m sure you have quite a number-
I went home, and it’s amazing how much my brain has been storing up. No wonder I can’t get anything in most of the time.
I started this blog, to write online.Now that it is complete and posting stuff online isn’t so hard, I am not sure what to write,and all the things I have ever written don’t seem good enough .I am not even sure what to name the blog. Should I call it- Decongesting my mind-? Should I give it the same title as my other site-The Literary Folder?