What can I say? Most of you reading this blog already know me, but for those that don’t, I’m a 43 year old corporate paralegal who’s been writing most of her life. The first things I ever wrote were poems about my parents and my dog (Mama probably still has them somewhere) and I think what started me on my love of writing was the Random House Book of Children’s Poetry, edited by Jack Prelutsky. The book was published in 1983 and is still in print — that speaks to its staying power if you ask me. I also read Shel Silverstein and others, and entered many writing contests when I was in elementary and middle school. To this day, on my desk is a medal I won for a state poetry competition honorable mention in 1989. Now I’m somewhat more jaded than I was 28 years ago, about my writing and the ability to publish, but somewhere inside is still that 11 year old child who wrote poems about everything she could think of. I still write, and read poetry as much as possible. It’s just different now. Maturity has a way of doing that to a person, I suppose. But I want to alway be that child who wrote for the sheer joy of it. To write for any other reason seems to cheapen it.