Another evening post. I really do have to get better at this.

I am rereading, for the far-to-many-to-count-eth time, one of L. M. Montgomery's 'Anne books'. Anne's House of Dreams, to be specific. I never get tired of reading Ms Montgomery's work - I love her use of language and her beautifully defined characters.

I can trace my determination to be a writer back to reading another Montgomery work, Emily of New Moon. When I read the vivid descriptions of Emily's drive to write and create stories it was an absolute revelation for me. Because I'd always made up stories, for as long as I could remember, but it had never occurred to me to write any of them down. Once I'd made that leap, though... wow, did it seem obvious. I loved stories, and I wanted to write them. More than twenty years later, I still do - and have written quite a few. Nothing publishable as yet, but practice makes perfect.

That's one of the reasons I created this blog. While I love to write, I am extremely undisciplined and disorganized. I need to practice writing every single day. Even if it's just a bit.

And if I should become published at some happy future time, having a blog already going will probably be a good thing. I'm told all the cool writers have them these days.

And it's this or bloody Twitter, and I just don't have the attention span for that. I can barely work Facebook. In MY day, you know, we had Livejournals and that was it! And we were grateful for it! And three icons was enough for anyone!

Montgomery and Livejournal. I am such a dinosaur some days.