Friday, January 19, 2007


I love to write. I love the way the words in my head sound on paper. I love the puzzle of making sure the words I choose, and the order I place them in, optimize the readers understanding. I took a semester of Latin, and I hated that there was very little sentence structure. Take all the right words, and put them down however. Yuck. That's part of the process that brings me joy. I had a professor in college that once told me the he felt if he could base my entire grade on written papers, I would have the highest grade he had ever given. That was such a compliment to me, and I thanked him profusely. He laughed and said he was glad I took it as a compliment, and now could I edit our marketing

As much as I love to write, I've never fancied myself a "writer" as such. I never thought I had the "great american novel" sleeping in my brain. I'm more of a factual writer. Or opinion.

I don't get to write much anymore, and I'm still trying to find my way in this blog. There are subjects I want to write about, but haven't had the time or energy to figure out how to maintain anonymity while telling the story, as well as prevent others from feeling exposed. I guess I could find a way to keep a private online diary, but that just seems like more work than I want to go through.

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