I wonder what it would be like if there was only one language. We could call it 'Earth'. No, no. We wouldn't have to call it anything at all, if it was the only speech we used.

Dissolving language barriers could and probably would change the way we all see each other. Well, at least it would make talking to each other a lot easier. We'd have streamlined communication for the first time since, well forever.

No doubt it would be tough at first, though. The first step would have to be setting up committees and sub-committees to argue and iron out all the issues something like this would naturally bring to the surface from the get go.

I know from past personal experience that drinkers, a glib lot if there ever was one, are fond of poppin' the cork whenever their little, pickled hearts desire and announcing that "it's five o'clock somewhere". No one can argue the point.

However, even though blogyonomo doesn't officially start for almost another two weeks, I had to jump the gun and started mine today. I'd like to glibly say that "it's October somewhere", but that won't work.

Actually, I have quite a few pieces in varying degrees of undoneness, none needing the jaws of life, but each crying for a little CPR. And the breath of life has been started today.

I used to like to fancy myself a writer, but dared not refer to myself as one because I wasn't published and couldn't come up with a good answer to "What do you write?". In some warped corner of my mind, I couldn't defend being a writer and not being published. It would have been bad enough if I'd stopped there, but bad things (especially imagined bad things) often tend to get worse. I reasoned(?) that I've not been published, therefore I'm not a good writer, therefore I shouldn't write, therefore I won't write. To that radionale, I now say "stuff and nonsense". (I don't usually say "stuff and nonsense", but it came out anyway.)

At the start of this morning's post (Blogs, USA, the World), I had no ulterior motive, but hindsight has a way of putting different lights on things. I like the way things are starting to work, though; even linking one of my posts to one of my posts falls somewhat into the community spirit of things.

For those who haven't read my earlier post, none of this makes sense yet and it's certainly not your fault. If I'd come prepared this morning, the continuity wouldn't be so out of whack. For everyone interested in the site I talked about earlier, here's the URL: http://www.successful

I've spent the past few weeks trying to immerse myself into everything I could find that is blog. I've barely scratched the surface. It's starting to look to me like there's almost as much information about blogging as there are blogs. It's positively mind-bloggeling!

This morning I came across a post in 'Successful and Outstanding Bloggers' (I promise to get back to you this afternoon with the link). From the point of view of one who aspires to make blogging a career (well, at least for now), the site is a rather fine find.

One post that caught my eye talked about the blogging community. It struck me like a light bulb: we who write and read blogs have more of an opportunity for community than anyone has ever had at any time in modern history. We don't write for ourselves, we don't read alone. It's an interactive society and I'm happy to be part of it.

A few weeks ago, one of my sisters sent me her latest writing, wanting a critique. It was a piece she'd entered in a contest and she was disappointed that it "didn't even get an honorable mention". Some of you might be equipped to critique a sibling's writing, but I'm not there yet. Even though I didn't figure out how to effectively help her with her story, my mind wasn't idle. This essay is the result of that conflict.

 Thoughts On Writing 

Writing is more than a handful of newly-sharpened pencils, an array of pens and a goodly supply of empty paper. It’s more than well-intentioned ideas that only exist on the walls of some of the rooms in our minds, forgotten when the shadows change; more than the few words scribbled here and there on junk mail envelopes and lost to decay when the envelopes are hastily trashed.

Not only is this the first entry of my first blog, it's my first attempt at a bio.

I'm a writer complete with the ego and the doubts, the knowledge and the ignorance, the peace and the demons that work together to enrich the life of any writer.

The first time I saw the word that aptly describes much of my education, was in a short bio of Mark Twain: I'm an autodidact. Once my budget moves into a healthier stage of recovery, I'd like to take a few classes; that day isn't this day.

My home is in Lansdale, Pennsylvania about 30 or so miles northwest of Philadelphia. Living with me and my boyfriend, Brent, are Duke (Shep mix), Alice (Calico) and Edgar (grey fish).