This process of being a writer and eventual author (yes, I am speaking all the life into it as possible) is one wrought with insecurities, doubt, obsession, being overwhelmed and, frankly, the sense that I might be crazy. No, not mentally unstable, but alone. Sometimes my inspirations for short stories are bazaar, strange enough that I don't have the courage yet to write them, or claim that I wrote them.

I am not afraid of criticism, not everything I write will be for everyone. What I am afraid of is putting my blood, sweat, tears, time, sleepless nights, random moments in line at the bank, time when others watch TV or do something else fun, and getting nothing for my efforts. It is okay to be ambitious when the duration of your efforts is short. But I am entering my fourth year with True Grace, the novel, and still have a ramshackle version of a beautiful story. How's that for crazy?

I know that I know, that I know that I am supposed to be writing. Man, that is faith. I can't see it, yet I still do it. Each step is a huge success, even without publication or agent in sight (that will all come), that is why I write; because I can't not write. I do promise this- I will finish this story (and many more) for the reading pleasure of those that want to read it. No pressure, no expectation. I have a story, I will write it, then I will share it.

I surface to be a part of this world, but I do feel alone sometimes in the craziest worlds of incredible imagination. That is a gift; the ability to retreat to innocence and worlds I can only imagine! But I have to go alone. Ah, the perils and the blessings of writing.