Since I started this blog, I had no idea what to type. Writing is both public and private. I like saying what I want but I don’t exactly want anything I say to bite me in the ass later. I am old enough to know better; even though I had a “My Butt in Jeans” picture project. I only posted two pics and I only did it for laughs. Completely forgot about the pervs on the internet. I got nasty offers and had no clue why some idiots thought I was down for that. Back to the original sentence, writing allows an adept person to learn about the writer, even when the story is fiction. I used only think that happened in poetry, a form of art I am terrified about. I thought poetry was too revealing . I thought it would show something I didn’t want anyone to know. Not realizing that revelations can still occur in prose. These insights don’t have to be dead-on, think of them as eerie-almost profound horoscopes, not exact but scary close. I decided to make this account a review. Books, movies, etc. then I froze or lost my track. It was stupid of me. I mean I wanted my review to eventually get the notice of someone. I wanted a following and if I am more lucky a toe in the publishing world. Never happened. My following is only me and I don’t follow easy.