It's been so long since I've really written anything of worth. It seems I've been saving my words for something more important than internet blogging - but really, these days, this is publishing.
Every decision I've been faced with as of late can be simplified into comfort vs. risk. I seem to be on the threshold of so many new things, if I was to make the conscious effort to do said things.
What will I wager, will I go there? Will my family still love me afterward? Will it fit with what is me, whoever that is?
I'd like to venture out to an old cottage on Lake Erie to just think and write my way out of these little conundrums. To have some real solitude, to let words form out of silence in the back of my mouth to tell me what it is I need to do. Instead of my nerves doing the talking.
This is not out of the realm of possiblity. Perhaps I should see how I can make this happen.