as promised, a beginning.

i tend to take refuge in the earnestness of my writing.  i don't know what exactly i have to offer this particular endeavor, what my own contribution to the unapologetic answer will be.  the odds of genius, or poignancy, or vivacity tumbling out of my key strokes seem slim.  really, i only have one guarantee: that everything i give, i give wholeheartedly.    

to begin with, some thoughts on words.

words have been as familiar to me as peas or bananas, as swing sets and carpeting, for as long as i can consciously recall anything.  they have surrounded me my entire life, in both my physical and psychic worlds.   my mother read fairy tales to the fetal version of my self.  there were stories written on my baby room wallpaper.  at nap time, i hid books beneath my pillows, to read after the lights were turned out.  during the heinous years of adolescence, i spent hours in libraries and plot lines, taking cover from the worst blows of puberty.  for the last 5 years words have been my currency, through which i have managed to purchase some self expression along with a degree.  after so many years of devotion, words are strung up like christmas lights in my imagination, gently illuminating my innermost impressions.    

i love them.  

beginning a venture that will be conducted almost entirely in text, i feel that it is important to take a moment to appreciate this very impressive medium.  though the actual aesthetics of our words will be limited by computerized fonts and color palettes, formatted to the reader's screen, there is still so much potential in what we set down here.  potential for pleasure, for pride.  potential for embarrassment (for, though i am not a writer either, christine, i am also sensitive about what i write) or misunderstanding.  there is even the potential that something truly grand or wonderful or exciting will happen.  words can crystallize events, solidify memories or stories from their immediate, possibly ephemeral state into something that can be shared, even after we have all forgotten them.  however, whatever we write can also deliquesce certainty, can soften and blur the harder edges of fact or verity.  we can create whatever we want to here.  

it's that potentiality that i find so incredibly alluring.  the layers of meaning imbedded in each specific formulation of letters, the lines that we read with our minds and hearts between the lines we read with our eyes... mmmm.  

delicious.  

i am going to try not to be intimidated by the skill and craft of you two co-authors (though, quite frankly, after reading the posts preceding mine that will be a rather difficult task.)  ending thoughts has never been my strong suite, particularly when it comes to writing them down- an ending always feels so artificial.  but then, i suppose this is just a beginning... so i guess i can relax a bit.  

until later then, loves.