Back to normal blogging

After that lengthy memoir, which I'm sure none of you read, I'm quite pleased to return to my old method of blogging. But with a new feature- The Image Macro of the Day!
I'm not writing this blog for anyone's pleasure but mine. Here, I can rant, share memoirs and hone my writing skills. If someone comes across it and enjoys my work, that's fine, it will give me some small joy in my life.
So many people write solely for page views and drama. But I write for the joy of it. My mind is filled with many tumbling and rumbling thoughts, dancing in my skull. Yet my memory is like sieve. Often I will lose these great thoughts, in that great river made of lost memories and ideas. I must harness these thoughts by blogging them, a reservoir of sorts.
I want to become a better writer. I want my ideas to come across clearly. I want to write stories that make people think, that make people feel. I want to write things that are beautiful and disturbing, I want people to question their world after reading my books. I am greatly inspired by Stephen King.
I have other life goals. One of which is to visit every single known cemetery in the state of Vermont. So far, I've been to five of the cemeteries in Bellow's Falls, one in Burlington, one in Bristol, one in Swanton, one in Windsor, one in Lyndonville and one in Bennington. I just noticed three out of six of these towns begin with the letter B. The ones in Bristol and Burlington, I visited as a child. The rest I have visited in my teens, with the exception of Bennington. I visited that one the day before my birthday, thus making it the first cemetery I visited on the cusp of my twenties.
That's right, I suppose I'm in my early twenties now. I turned 20 last Tuesday. Most people my age look to this as a time of great change. Not so, with I. I felt the last of my childhood slip from my fingers, on April the 14th. The days of innocence and freedom from logic are forever locked in the archives of memory, only taken out to be mused upon, never to be relived. I am no longer a child, not even close, I am a woman now. A woman, what do you suppose that means? What does in mean to be a woman? Women are the bearers of life, but not all women bear children, women are the owners of wisdom, but not all women are wise. To be a woman is a complicated quilt. We dance the complex dance between weakness and strength, domination and submission. To some we are considered helpless, to others we are considered tyrants.
Women cannot be categorized. Everyone has tried to put women into neat little categories, but like cats, we cannot stay in one place for too long.
You may notice that I leap from subject to subject, like crossing a river by jumping rock to rock. Free writing is a favored method of mine.

Macro of the Day: