A few days ago I found out that Wendy, one of my oldest and best friends, passed away suddenly from an accidental overdose. I've been staying away from my notebook because writing it down seems too real. I thought typing would be easier than setting it down in ink. I've spent the past few days feeling heart-broken, angry, confused, lucky (then nervous) and that's all within the course of any given hour. Mostly I feel like not wasting anymore time saying "someday I want to..."

As a writer, I've felt that starting a blog would be a natural extension of what I attempt on paper and a way to share my work, but as a mom of two, college student, yoga teacher, wife...it's hard to find time to do anything more than tread water. Sounds like a pretty lame excuse all of the sudden. Wendy was one of the biggest champions of my writing. She always wanted to read my stories, novel, screenplay, whatever I'd hand over. She encouraged me and asked for more, but mostly she wanted to know when she was going to be able to buy my book. I can't promise that I'll publish a book for her because those decisions are up to too many other people, but I can commit to doing more with the minutes of my day.

I'm not sure what I have in mind for this page. I'll probably post stories, mini essays, and complain a lot about the challenges of raising a four-month-old and four-year-old. Give me a few days to play around...