About Me

On Another Day…It might be different

I always knew I’d write. 

I just didn’t think I’d ever want anyone to read it.

I always knew I’d write.

But I found that when I write for my own eyes, I don’t do it.  Or if I do, I can’t stand what I’ve written.  Maybe it’s the exhibitionist in me.  Or the computer geek.  But put me in front of my iPhone or my laptop and my fingers fly across the keyboard like someone offered them dessert.  And I write more truthfully for others than myself.  I don’t know why.

I always knew I’d write.

Because I think in book titles. Book titles summarizing a certain situation, or circumstance are constantly popping into my head, several times a day.  I’ve often thought this meant I was supposed to write a book.  But maybe I was wrong.

I always knew I’d write.

Because maybe… someday, somewhere, someone..

Will read it.

And feel understood.

And know they’re sane.