5 years…

…696 posts…

and all of you.


When a writer writes, I like to think it is because they are constantly in conversation with the universe. A mind unbound and more than a little bit unsettled. Nomadic, tribal instinct capturing the stories trapped deep in the long history of our genetic code. A mystery to be solved. A secret to be winnowed out from the chaff of chaotic, modern existence. A seed. A pearl. A diamond. Writers seek things of great value, not easily attained, but only found where the heat is hottest and the pressure is highest. We are malcontents and mutineers. Tumultuous tragedies of passion and potential. Climactic and a disappointment, perhaps in the same paragraph, but assuredly; a writer is never satisfied.

Thank you for 5 strange years.

I promise the next 5 will be stranger.




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