I was talking to a friend recently, someone who pretty much thinks and writes for a living. She’s an attorney, so she’s deep into it: notes and briefs and opinions and…well, I’m not sure what all else (I should ask her!).

And we were talking about writing in general — at least that’s how I remember the convo — and I was asking her about her writing. She was an English major when we went to college. I was a Political Science major; lots of writing there between us.

So in that tid-bit of conversation I was trying to encourage her to write — for herself I meant, but maybe didn’t say.

I conveyed what this blog has become for me. I think I was pretty sloppy in my explanation, but the sentiment was true enough. Writing feels good. At least it does to me. And that’s what I was trying to convey. Write, just because if you’re a writer, it feels GOOD to write.

I’m not sure she believed me. Or maybe better said, I’m not sure she was feeling the enthusiasm I feel about writing. Maybe this is because she’s a writer who wants the words to end up perfectly, or as close as she can get. I’m not sure. Maybe my babble was little disjointed. That certainly happens too sometimes.

In any event, that writing to make the words perfect on the page…I sort of gave up on that central goal a while ago. I’m happy when the words end up perfectly, but more important to me is getting the words out, and sharing them with others, with you.

So thanks for giving me that opportunity. Little did you know, you’re adding to the good in my world. And I appreciate it.