I've begun writing. It's been a good three months or so since I last put fingers to keyboard with the intent to create a Work, and as always, I'm startled anew at the remarkable volume of life churned up in my mind. Fear blends with anxiety, both paced by determination and deep resolve. My intellect clicks into swift, intense gear, humming low with exhilaration. And beneath all is a still, soul-vital, ineffable Awe.

At the heart of good writing exists a pursuit of Truth---I was struck by that today. Truth in character and emotion and place and plot, even in chaos. Good gracious, how I love this. Why do I tell myself I don't?

( ...a more accurate---and oddly apropos---sorting (more HP stuff)... )

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