I am done writing in the dark. I have stacks of journals, notebooks, computer files, and voice memos overflowing with poems, thoughts, short stories and attempts at essays that have been accumulating since I was initiated into the realm of creative writing at age 14 by one of my high school english lit teachers. Occasionally I share something I have written with a friend. Occasionally I leak bits of things into my social media accounts. I spent a short stint attempting to get my work published. My most memorable rejection letter had a handwritten note on it that read: “Keep writing.” I took that to heart. I have never stopped writing. I don’t think I could–nothing would make sense to me, and life would be unbearable without such self-expression. In the process of dying from cancer, my mother asked me to create a blog for her and her community. The experience of having an outlet to process and communicate what was happening for my mother, for our family, and for myself, was a blessed opportunity. It was an anchor in the stormiest of seas. The value and power of blogging was illuminated for me in a very unique and intimate way.

I have decided I want to own my words in more of a genuine and public way than I have before. I don’t claim to meet any particular standards. I don’t claim to be the creator of all that flows through me.  I am not interested in perfection. I do strive for quality and deep meaning. I am a listener and a creative interpreter. It is in my nature to transform what I experience and observe into some form of art or action, whether it be through writing, glasswork, drawing, ritual-making, painting, teaching, gardening, therapeutic empowerment or community organizing. I offer my writing now through this blog, Everbearing. My voice, my writing, has been longing for a receptive audience for years–not for fame, though perhaps for recognition, and for the opportunity to be read, to be heard, to reach someone in a relevant moment. I am done allowing my inner voices of doubt and fear to reign. I am tearing down the walls that hold me in, one brick at a time. I am done writing in the dark.

Bless the courage to forge new paths. Bless you who are willing to receive my words.

Yours Truly,

Anemone, daughter of the wind and sea, earth and sky