Confessions of a relunctant writer

Forgive me, Blog, it has been over a year since my last entry here. During this time I have committed a vast quantity of words to page without exposing many to the light of day. Why should I? Just because they demand to be written doesn't mean they must be shared, does it? Aren't they for my own edification? Instructive to me personally and of no use, meaning or even intelligible to any other, isn't that their nature? Blog does not prescribe a formula of chants and prayers to let me off the hook. Blog simply waits for the words to be let loose upon the sphere just for the "so what?" of it. So what? I am hesitantly, fitfully committing to my writing and, yes, even applying craft to the inspiration of words that flow. Words, often unbidden, relentlessly demand to be placed on the page. I, their willing, if sluggish servant, finally acquiesce. All of my diversions, excuses and avoidance tactics born of my one fear of loss of love in the form of rejection have abandoned me. I am now at the mercy of the words that come to me. First draft commences; the work is begun; and now begins the fun each day a few pages for the meager wages of contentment and satisfaction. If I were a woodcarver instead of a writer it would be like this: I've just planted a sapling now to tend and water and prune waiting for it to produce a healthy branch to spare only then can I wield my craft, start to pare all this preparation before the creation of the actual piece of art.  And now we say: One Day at a Time