On Why I Write
Updated: Jan 16
It's taken a while to feel comfortable enough in my skin to share what I have to share. Four decades, to be precise. Writing, I find, is similar to the process of playing music, which allows for an opportunity to both digest and create something new and unique. And although for me, these have both always been a private practice, both a necessity and an expression of love akin to breathing, really the arts are meant to be shared.
And so, a blog? Sure, I've published an occasional article or poem in the past, and a little more than that recently, but often there are the fireflies of ideas flitting around, things I'd like to grasp and work out onto the page, convey in an unhurried revelation to anyone interested enough to take a few minutes of their time to read. And then of course there are those hours of sweat and patience and love and grief that I've poured into the hundreds of pages that have never seen the light of day -those have been a secret and a small garden of practice, planted row by row. Gardens are meant for harvesting. Maybe because I never believed that people would truly be interested in reading what I have to say, and maybe because I have yet to find a publisher for the bulk of it, so much of it lies dormant.
Yet I write, and have always written, anyway. And somewhere along the way, I've grown into a voice that I am no longer afraid to speak from, and a person who is no longer hiding what I have to share. And so it was time for a forum from which I could share my thoughts, and a place where I could bridge all the memoir and poetry and fiction that I have in me, offer it up in a way that is accessible to anyone who has the inclination to read it. Thank you for visiting this website! Read well.