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My Sincerest Thanks

I grew up writing. And reading.

There were authors I loved to read. I would devour their books any chance I could. The Incarnations of Immortality series was one of my absolute favorite series (And I just found out there was an 8th book in 2007--WTH?!?).

I knew from reading these books that there was one thing I loved more than reading.


It makes me giddy. No...seriously...I smile so wide it hurts my face to think that there are people out there--you--who come here see if I've written anything new.

I have said that I don't really write for you (And that's partly true. Mostly I write because when I don't, I feel that my soul is dying. Seems melodramatic, but I know the truth of that statement with my entire being)., dear reader, are the piece of the puzzle that is unlike any other. You see...I write because I have to. That is true. However....what makes my dream of being a writer in the grand sense is the fact that there are people to read my words.

If I only stuck to my journals (which, I apologize, has been my soul (sole?) outlet these last 10 days), then I would not be a writer. I would be a...well...I don't know what I'd be.  You have to believe that this makes perfect sense in my head.

Perhaps I'm searching for the semantic difference between author and writer. Perhaps I'm just searching for some self-inflated, pendantic explanation to account for the breadth and dearth of random musings on these pages.

But perhaps, what I feel, every time I click on here to post some other thought-tripe that happens to wander downstream to my happy fingers, is gratitude. Gratitude that six...or seven...or twenty-three people happened to click on a post. And maybe they shared it with a friend. Maybe they chuckled quietly to themselves. Or maybe...(and this is what I hope beyond hopes)...maybe they will be inspired to follow-through with something that makes their souls sing.

I write because I have to. You read because you want to. The power is all yours. And the gratitude is all mine.



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