I’ve been wanting to get my poetry out there for a while, and today I thought to myself: why not now?  What’s stopping me?

It’s been a tough couple of months for my fiancée and me, having recently moved to a new city and begun transitioning into the new job market.  Incomes are low, and sometimes morale is lower; we find it’s tough to even think we’re good enough for the things we want to do.  As one might imagine, it’s put a bit of a damper on the creative process.

But isn’t all creativity ultimately borne of some heartache, some gnawing feeling of unworthiness?  (Perhaps that’s just me.)  Regardless, writing makes me feel better; ergo, I write.  If it’s no small irony that writing makes me feel better about not being employed as a writer, so be it.  Life is full of such ironies.

All I ask is an open ear and an open mind.  Comments are welcome and encouraged. 🙂

-A

“From a very early age, perhaps the age of five or six, I knew that when I grew up I should be a writer. Between the ages of about seventeen and twenty-four I tried to abandon this idea, but I did so with the consciousness that I was outraging my true nature and that sooner or later I should have to settle down and write books.”

~George Orwell