7 Jan


You have consistently been an escape for me.  Someplace to slip into the security of the words, the comfort of the stories when my books have all been read.  Someplace to share my stories with the world.  Someplace to read stories of people who think the same as I do, feel the same feelings I do, and experience things I wish I had experienced.  To be surrounded by other writers was always a joy.

Recently, I have returned to this place where I once found freedom, but I feel as though something has changed.  My stories are never read, my words quickly pushed aside in favor of something else.  I suddenly feel rejected by one of the safe places I retained since childhood.

This is childish and silly.  Writing letters to a website does not accomplish anything.  But, as always, the writing of words feels better.  Writing always makes me feel better.

Your old friend,



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