I am not a writer. You will never see my name embossed on a fine leather book. The dream of being published does not exist for me. Still, I fill this virtual notebook. I cast a light on myself that is not always kind, but always shines true, illuminating the soul. Pieces of me left unwritten. A life I can’t always define. Words often unvarnished. Other times finished. They are all my own and this is their home. This is me.