In the six years I've kept at this blogging thing, there have been long, loooong stretches of daily writing. And a longer stretch of almost-daily writing. And a few obviously unlinkable stretches of almost no writing at all.

There have been, despite my certainty that there never would be, both poems and video. A little whining. A little explicating. A lot of figuring stuff out, out loud.

Some of the stuff I've said has wound up other places, never the stuff I thought would (which should tell you something about something), and mostly thanks to Laura.

What I'm trying to say, albeit rather clumsily, is that a lot of the time, the reason to write is just that, to write. You can write to promote yourself or write to make money or even write to find yourself but ultimately, you write to write. To be able to keep on writing. To be able to keep on getting better at writing. To be able, god willing, to write long enough that you write well enough to actually say something that will live on after you are no longer there to write.

But even if you don't, even nobody reads your writing while you are alive and all your writing dies with you, if you are a writer (and maybe even if you are not), you are the better for having written.

Now, write.

xxx c

Photo of me with delicious SCD-legal pie made for me by my friend, Heather, taken by my friend, Dyana.