Desert Magnolia begins....

What makes someone begin a blog? Do they have a secret desire to share old hurts, new hurts, various views on life, questions, loves, complaints, blessing and banes? I think so. I never thought I'd be one of these people. In fact, when I first started paying attention to blogs as part of a research project with work, I thought the bloggers were a bit self indulgent, a bit narcissistic, a bit transparent regarding intensely personal issues that they shared in an anonymous monologue/dialogue with those who monitor their posts.
 

I thought they were a little cowardly for choosing an anonymous venue; I'm starting to get it. In fact, I get it enough to have begun a blog....myself. Me, the very serious, terribly private, rather introspective yet effusive one whose career requires being out there, ie available. My job requires me to be on at all times, in fact, even when I'm not really on I have to fake it. I fake it alright. I'm on whenever I need to be, but few have a clue to what's inside. That's how it's supposed to be, right?

So, as I begin this journal, I realize a few things. First, fear and respect of personal privacy prevents me from sharing the deepest, darkest stuff. Maybe that's good. Maybe that stuff needs to stay right where it is. Maybe time will embolden me. Maybe nobody will follow my blog so it won't matter anyway. Sharing is moot if nobody reads.

We'll see. Call me Stevie. I'm a 40 something mom of two amazing individuals, soon to be empty-nester, married to a loving, caring and supportive man. Who makes me laugh. This is huge.

I'm also a frustrated writer. Fortunately, my career allows an opportunity to pen a story from time to time. I'm grateful for this. I'm also grateful for good health, living in a great climate, appreciating life's finer pleasures, and for truly believing the future holds better things for all.

My writing frustration I choose to address here. In this blog. Yes, I have a novel in the works—it's a murder mystery, set in current times, in Albuquerque. Original, yes? Whatever. I started it after a good friend of mine from grade school, with whom I'd reunited after he returned from college, and I had a falling out. It was silly, but in the process I managed to lose my best friend. Which made me start a novel. In which I killed him in the first chapter.

It was wonderful. It was cathartic. It didn't help. I still missed him. A ton. But I'd begun a novel, and by damn, at some point in this life (I started it many years ago...over 15 now, I think), I'll finish the silly thing. Or maybe not. When my friend and I reconciled (many years ago now and all is well), some of the wind left my sails...we'll see.

Stay tuned. I may bore you to death, but I promise regular musings, some no doubt self-indulgent, some irrelevant to where/who you are right now, but I promise honesty at all times.

When I can.