Someone recently told me that I seem to have a need to write.
Up until a few years ago I would have said that my best talent was singing.
I still love to sing, but I cannot live without writing.
Why it took me 44 years to figure that out I can not say.
I prefer to write on the humorous side, I can hide in that.
I really do enjoy it and have no doubt that I will continue writing in that way.
More often of late , however, the writing has become rawer.
It forces me in to dark corners that I would prefer to leave behind.
It will not let me escape.
It has a life of its own.
It is real this talent.
It is as real as any living soul.
It is persistent, strong, and unrelenting in it’s honesty.
It often leaves me sobbing at the self discovery it brings.
I cannot hide from myself when I write in this way and I like to hide.
I have made a life out of hiding.
I have made a life out of wearing a mask and the mask has slipped a little as I wrote this post.