Dare me.

Hello again, Dear, Dear World!

Let me start by saying:  I have not been lost and then found.  Lucille (the muse) has not forsaken me.  It is not my career (well, it is a little) that has forced my silence.

This lapse in voice (at least this lapse in my blogging voice) is attributed to the idea that I am going through some type of metamorphosis, am shedding my artistic skin, am examining myself and my motives and my desires and am putting certain fears to rest.

That takes a lot of work, moving from one hermit shell to the next.

(And, by hermit shell, I am not saying that I am bashful or secretive.  But I have, as I imagine all of us do, my social-face, and my personas, and the fears that keep me somewhat shackled. So, I am proud to say that I am moving into a roomier socio-psychological apartment.)

(Am I talking bull shit here, or do I make sense?)

(How do you like the excessive use of parenthesis?)


I have been afraid to write here.  In this public domain.  Afraid, not so much of what you might think, but of what I might think about what I am thinking.  I have spoken of audience and how it is both motivating and intimidating.  I have begged for approval, have been asked to and have tried to forget my audience, and have wallowed in a bit of imagined-audience (meaning the people that I imagine to be my audience)-provoked despair.

Basically, I have lacked self-confidence.

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