I am a 'closet writer' by my own deeming. I was urged many times throughout high school and then college to pursue writing as a career, and brushed it off as 'too boring' to bother with for many years. As fate would (always) intervene in some form, I have discovered as the years have slipped by, that I really have an urge to write. I've been an avid journal writer for many years simply as a method of emptying an overly creative mind from time to time. My passions expressed on paper are my passions in life and experienced by life. I find myself now, as a curious onlooker, peering into the magical abyss of the writer's world, like a naughty gnome hiding under a decaying leaf, peering cautiously into this unknown world filled with the active unrecognizable form of the mysterious 'writer', forever wondering how this world would somehow welcome the likes of me, even if only in the most infinitesimal way possible. It is that curiosity that brings me again to the edge of this world, but this time a desire to become involved and active in some yet-unknown way.