A long time ago, I wrote stories for the internet.
My stories: funny, heartbreaking, mundane. People read them – perhaps even you – and I read theirs and we connected like live wires, sparking with recognition. I read my stories aloud, spoke at a conference in
Greece, traveled my beautiful home state of Arkansas, met new dear friends, wrote for local magazines, and ran an incredible live storytelling show. All because of writing stories on my website.
And then, I lost my blog.
Maybe I’ll tell you that story sometime, and about the Internet Wayback Machine, where I retrieved it, sort of. In pieces that I’m not sure I’ll ever put back together – and maybe that’s not the point. It’s definitely not the point of this intro. So what is?
I love the sound of my own voice. I need to hear it.
Make of that what you will; that I’m completely self-obsessed (true) or that I love to peer through my days and see what’s right there in front of me (also true.) All that to say —
I’m back, bitches.
LET’S SEE WHERE THIS GOES!
“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.”
Rainer Maria Rilke
Letters to a Young Poet