On a good day, about 100 people will visit this site.
And regardless of how much of my insides I spill forth onto these pages, I understand the likelihood of me reaching a larger audience are slim. Why?
I refuse to barter my art for fame.
This past summer, I stood in my best friend's bathroom and composed a poet-line with magnet words :: girl, we writers howl and heal porcelain bone. I pieced these words together because if anything, this is what I want from my writing. I want you to hear me howl. I want you to experience the healing of broken words. I want you to come away feeling a little more whole - not because of what I said, but because of what you felt. I pray you feel a little of the holy in my words - that I've stepped aside long enough to let Him in to those spaces between reality and magic.
So here's the thing :: this here blog? I howl here. And well, if you take a look at some of the more popular blogs focused on writing and getting your voice heard, there's not much howling going on - there's a lot of repeats. A lot of mimicking.
A lot of bartering art for fame.
I won't do it.
I've been studying trends lately. Watching the bestseller lists, quietly observing what it is people want to read. And I see it - they want escape.
And I get this. I do. But I can't offer it - not in the way they're wanting me to give it. I realize this with a bit of trepidation because I know what this means.
So, I'll take you 100 readers. I'll continue to howl and weep and claw at this debris around me in order to find some beauty. I'll hold the mirror up so you can look in it and see the purpose built inside your bones. I'll dance and celebrate and point to life's rhythm pulsing in the rustling of trees and the gentle steps of babies.
But I will not barter. I won't.
I'd rather peel back the veil on what it means to write dangerously and with intention - holding close this purpose of beauty within pain - even if it means I won't ever see fame.