“You have the gift, but you are still waiting for something…  I don’t know your next life maybe.”  The ironic assessment of the Oracle in the first Matrix installment comes to mind when I step back and look at my work. 

Now, I’ll grant that every work has a target audience and purpose, not everything that I write can or even should be a soul-baring coup d’état of poetry, pose and passion intersecting at the root of a spiritual journey towards Nirvana, but I find, more often than not, that I am still holding back.  The reason that my horror can be less than scary is that I keep myself from really expressing the things that truly frighten me, the words that hurt to write.  I have done this before, in fact, Betrayal, which should be appearing on Chick Lit Shorties any day now was one such piece.  I’ve been only half-engaged which is a polite way of saying detached from both my writing and my life.  Isn’t it time to light the fire again?

Tell the truth, if not to your readers, than at least to yourself.  Keep writing my friends!

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