From Here On Out

I am fortunate enought to have a brilliantly insightful person in my life who happens to know exactly how to push my buttons and pull my levers. He also happens to grind my arguments to a pulp when it comes to Making Excuses About Not Doing Things I Know I Should Do. One of these things being expanding (and occasionally contracting) my writing into various domains and dimensions. A lot of what I write down, and what I believe is my best, is in a ramshackle collection of notebooks. Very private, very protected notebooks. That is where all my writing seems to be the safest, I can close the cover and open it again, in control, with nothing but myself and my pen to disturb me.
Mostly I do this for selfish reasons, despite knowing that those words would love to get out and be seen. I have maintained my side of the argument by thinking that nobody would really care anyway. But lo and behold, the aforementioned person goes and blows to smithereens years of thought processes and justifications with just one sentence. I believe his exact words were: "if you just hide things in notebooks, then how is anyone going to have the chance to care?"

Result: I have decided, post by post, to let some of these notebook scrawlings out to see the world and all it holds. They will be in no particular order- in fact, they'll be deliberately disorderly. They won't make sense but suddenly they will. They'll pertain to nothing you'll ever know about and will be completely out of context. But all this is relevant: it reflects with crystal clarity myself and my days and the things that force me to take up pen and put to paper. Knowing this cycle exists, how could I possibly justify leaving my words to fade away on pages under cover of darkness when they could be wreaking havoc out here??