It’s too early to say it, but I’m taking the leap anyway. I’ve been through a blogging breakdown. As I got more into this whole writing thing, it started to seem like a more serious dream. Suddenly blogging seemed simultaneously too trivial a container for my best work and too important an advertisement to take lightly. I figured I was doing something wrong. So I read a lot of articles and perused what you might call my contemporaries and decided I had gotten the format all wrong.

So, dear reader, I admit it. I began another blog. I figured it would be a business arrangement. I would become an authority on something or other. Being tall and loving vintage clothes and antiques and occasionally cooking some sort of chic recipe. I would write pillar articles and develop a niche audience and soon I would be wildly successful, turning down publishers eager for my work at every turn.

Well, I lost interest in weeks (I dare you to try and find that other little blogging endeavor). I discovered what I have always known. I have no single perspective. I have no dynamic title. I have no authority. I have all questions and very few answers. I have no schedule of ideas. I am not prepared for the lucrative blogging life. It was destined for doom.

But… this thing here. This little collection of stories and pictures and points of view. This I can do. No pressure. Just words. Maybe not even good ones, maybe just whatever’s in my head. And I know I’ve made this commitment before, I think the first recorded time still lives somewhere in a journal with a quilt on the cover and lots of empty pages in the back… Or maybe it was on an Xanga page…. Still, I stand firm.

There could be lots of weird and unedited stuff on here for awhile. Or worse, weird unedited poetry. I don’t really know. For better OR for worse I’m putting all of my trust in the muses.

After all, a perpetual day can’t end….


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