The art of consolodation

I am a writer. It's what I do. I write when I'm overstimulated, tired, inspired, bored, confused, motivated, stressed and exuberant. If I'm not sleeping, eating, riding a horse or reading, I am most likely...you guessed it, writing. Oddly, I am not one to keep a diary. I've started a half-dozen in my lifetime, but it seems the novelty quickly wears off when said diary goes missing and/or forgotton for months at a time. Thinking about all of the beautiful nuggets of truths I've missed capturing over the years brings a tinge of regret and a touch of frustration. I've tried to contain my musings in other, less successful, ways. Turns out, a napkin doesn't hold much truth and scrap paper is just that, no matter how brilliant the words emblazoned upon it. Alas, I've been pursuaded by an insanely talented and technically-savvy group of writers to join the blogosphere (that's the right word, isn't it?) and let all who desire into my little world. As an added bonus, all of my scattered clips will be contained in one neatly-wrapped package. Love that.

Truthfully, I am feeling a bit vunerable right now. But, so be it. A long time ago, in reponse to my question, "How do I become a writer?" a wise teacher told me, "Just write." And write, I shall...