Well, this is it. I thought I'd finally be brave and delve into the world of on-line journalling. It's strangely comforting--knowing that there's an audience for my private thoughts. Perhaps there is a closet exihibitionist in me after all! Maybe it's just the writer in me. I dunno. As it rolls off my tongue, that phrase seems to have all the grace of a dancing elephant. I still have misgivings about calling myself a writer. Despite what Professor Garber told me. I don't know if the name "writer" will ever feel natural to me. It's like how Sylvia Plath said that for every success she appeared to have, she had "acres of doubt and misgiving." "Writer." Perhaps its one of those things that you have to grow into. Or maybe I'll wake up one morning and it will have been "thrust upon" me. Maybe I'll feel differently if either Lichen or A Room of One's Own decides to publish one of my stories? Who knows? Until that growth spurt, I'll continue yammering on here and on my computer. At the very least it'll give me the time to really listen to myself.