10 March 2012


I'm feeling ready to stretch my wings and catch a few dreams - a personal stretch in who I am and where I want to go, with dreams of my own secret self, though nothing large or impressive.

I do not profess to have any kind of wonderful writing skills - but I enjoy it anyway.  And I aspire to be better at it.  I love writing more than speaking for a million and one reasons (if you know me in person, you will realize I am quite a babbler in spite of this statement).  Mostly, I love that I can tweak, adjust, change, erase, scratch through, delete, and rewrite until what I am truly thinking is almost correct on the paper (or computer) in front of me.  It gives me time to straighten out the jumble of words that fall over each other in spoken form.  I'm not convinced writing can be completely perfect either, but once in a while something I've written is satisfying enough that I derive a thrill from re-reading it a few more times (until I find that awful hidden typo. . . ), or knowing when I send an email or letter I've carefully worded each part of it to express exactly what I wanted to say.

I will make an effort to ramble here a bit more if for no other reason than a little writing practice in the coming weeks and months.  I have no idea what that might mean for my little bloggy world, but if it gives me an outlet to scritch-scratch, so be it.  I need to drop some inhibitions, push myself out of my comfort zone.

Here is a little secret: I have decided that instead of the running sneakers I have been thinking about, I will spend my hard saved dollars on a small writing class.  If I'm lucky, I'll save enough later for another one.
Just because I want to.
And I always have.
And now I can.
For me.

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