[insert clever quote here]

I love the act of writing, the way the pen loops across the page or the words appear on the screen. I love the way the world pulses when my eyes and words come together and render it remarkably alive.

I have this burning need to be a writer. They say you should choose an occupation that engages your skills and passions. If I were left to my own devices I would read, watch, think, discuss, investigate and record. Isn't that what writers do? But then there is this fear in me that stems from my love of both the world and the work that describes it: what if I am not skilled enough? What if I don't do its beauty justice? I know eventually hard work and error will polish me, experience wearing down the terror of my imperfection. And in the meanwhile I have my quirky observations and beloved words to gode me on.