What this is, and what it isn’t.

I’ve decided I can’t call this a blog. This is not a blog. It is, but it’s not because I say so and because I’ve never liked the word blog. It sounds crass — blog — like an irreverent noise or an embarrassing mistake. 
It’s one letter away from being blob, which is disgusting nothingness. So no.
Not a blog.

This is a thing. A changing thing.
Whatever stories find me will end up here.
I’ll be in them. Characters I imagine in my head will be in them. New places and old. Familiar and foreign. What is safe and what pushes me to my boundaries. Magic and fear and laughter and mystery. All of it. Here.
And I cannot wait.

Last night was the first night in an exceedingly long time that I have gone to bed at peace. Usually my mind is filled with unease and anxiety, turning over and dissecting my unhappiness. 
Last night I was kept awake by ideas, by the need to create, to write. There was a continuous electricity coursing through me, and each time I would settle down, a new sentence or detail would present itself, reviving me. I’ve never been so happy to lose sleep.

If you’re reading this, thank you. You’re making magic real.