Since I have been in the Writing Game as a published author, I have learned a thing or two about the writing business. Much of my knowledge has been a learn as I go process. Sometimes that's exactly what you have to do. Just jump in and go for it. It's not the big scary monster some perceive it to be. Although, I have learned that many lovely fellow authors out there are very kind and supportive and are more than happy to share what they have learned along the way with you if you ask. I suppose this is me returning the favor and responding to the many questions I have received from several authors looking at where I am in the writing/publishing game and wondering how they can get there themselves. Instead of responding individually, I choose to respond to all of you in this manner, here on my blog.

The "Witching Hour" on Beltane, usually finds me writing. This year finds my heart filled with more joy than sadness. I still have my scars and bruises, but they're manageable and know their place. I bite harder, and they know it. I have this way of keeping my ear to the ground and listening carefully to the rhythm of what will bring me joy. Even when my world was torn asunder, I could still hear the music. It's always the music who knows where and when to find me in its perfect timing. It's my medicine, my muse, food for my soul if you will. My angels find me in the notes and reveal themselves in the lyrics. It's quite beautiful in it is perfection.

I’m nobody’s stray kitten, waiting for you to kindly put out a saucer of milk for me when it suits you. Either love, accept, honor and, respect me completely “all year long, not just one day a year when you’re feeling charitable” or leave me alone entirely.

I will admit the piece was quite biting, and anyone reading it could take offense, and come away from it feeling quite self-conscious, and unsettled. The only thing that honestly came to mind was that if it resonated so deeply, perhaps the reader should explore that more closely?

Am I what you've made me out to be?
If you truly believe that, then you clearly cannot see.
You clearly cannot see me, because you don't want to.
I actually think that for a fleeting moment, you did.
You saw something that scared you down to your soul.
And even until this moment, you haven't recovered from it.
I scare you because even though you deny it, you know me.
Deeply, in some unrefined realm, you are a fervent admirer.
I have left you undeniably and eternally disturbed.
I can't, and I will not pretend to be what I am not to appease you.