Writing has always been a verb for me—an action I take to get a grade, land a job, or inform a client. When I was a teacher, it became an adjective and a noun: “Students, I want your writing by Monday at 3:15pm,” said Ms. Johnson, the writing teacher. It took me 50 years to claim writing as something I am; to transform participles and gerunds into a one-who-writes noun—a writer.

This identity fought to be seen, even after a childhood filled with journaled prose, lyrics, and my first love, poetry. So, at the risk of being judged, I share many rough musings here, unmarred by perfectionism and unseen by editors. Besides, they wanted sharing, and it’s probably going to be awhile until my long-form work gets published. Why not let you glimpse a little of what I value, in all its messy glory?