Intoductions Are Always Awkward

      I have been writing since I could hold a pencil.  I was a lonely child.  I wrapped books around me like a security blanket, shielding myself from the cold world.  I had a natural talent then, always ahead of my class.  I knew I was born to write.  By high school I realised I lacked any actual experience to write from.  I set forth on an unfortunate path to discover all the dark parts of the world that eventually overcame me.  My classmates moved forward fulfilling their dreams, while I dove into the depths of addiction still searching for what I couldn't see.  I mapped out the great novels that would come from my experiences.  I wrote, but every passing month a little less.  Until one day I realised I had gone too far.  There was nothing left of me but regret.
    I had a child, got married, and worked towards a comfortable life.  I wanted to write but felt I had left my skill behind.  The effortless poems that used to fill volumes no longer seemed adequate.  I let my dream die, praying somehow it would come back to me.  It won't come back, I have to breathe life back into it.  I have come here for guidance and inspiration.  If this is my destiny, I will follow the path.