I know now. I know why I am here.
I am here to write.
I started writing when I was little. But I didn’t pursue it as a career. Thank goodness. It would have ruined writing for me.
I grew up in a sedate 1950s Berkeley, California. It was sedate because it was the 1950s. It and I didn’t become radical until the 60s. I changed. Berkeley did not.
I’ve written short stories, essays, and articles. I’ve written long fiction. Plenty. I’ve written on and offline. I’ve written into the universe and under the dirt. On a boat, in a coat, on the sand with my hand. I’ve written with paper and pen, and written again.
I write because I must. Just as you must do what you must.
So, now I share Giving My Self to the Wind because it’s time to finish something.