If I had any foolish notions that this journey would be easy.  If I at all imagined it paralleling a heroine's journey in a Hollywood movie.  If I believed I'd start with resolve, and then after a two-and-a-half minute montage consisting of alternating twenty-second shots of me bent laboriously over a stack of books in the library, pounding away furiously on the keys of my laptop with a determined and focused grimace, smiling wearily and wiping beads of sweat from my brow as I serve a boisterous family of four their mediocre dinner, and gratefully falling into the welcoming folds of the comforter atop my modest twin-sized bed, I'd hold up to the light the most glorious novel/play/novella/collection of short stories/screenplay/compilation of poetry ever to present itself before readers' awestruck eyes... well, I WAS WRONG.

Writing is hard.  There's no eloquent or articulate or noble way to phrase that to alter the fact in any way.  WRITING IS HARD.  Even when you're good, and I've got no delusions of grandeur on that score.  I have no idea if I'm good.  I don't even have a clue if I'm good enough to validate this experiment!  I've never received encouragement regarding my writing to justify this sabbatical.  All I know is I've got a building body of work roiling my insides and I won't be at peace until I try my best to get it all on paper and nudge the fledgling drafts into the world to the best of my ability.

Today, a To Do list.

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-Strengthen vocabulary
-Improve grammar
-Learn to spell
-While you're at it, learn to write
-Attain bravery
-Develop courage
-Have fewer panic attacks
-Tell Mom

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I mean, that was mostly a joke.  ... Right?