I was at a lecture at our local arts center recently. The subject was a poet, Lorrine Niedecker. I'd never heard of her before the lecture, but it was quite interesting. Her poetry was radically different from what I normally read; it was modern, sometimes minimalist, free-form poetry. I couldn't always understand what the point of the poem was or what the subject was, but still it struck me on a deeply emotional level. I found it fascinating how much emotion it evoked even though I couldn't understand it.

After the lecture, there was reception with the lecturer in the gallery. I found myself talking with the lecturer, and he asked if I was a writer. It's a logical question to ask someone who attends a lecture on a (nowadays) obscure poet. I wasn't quite sure how to answer; I said not really. I don't write poetry; I don't write books or articles. I have never been published and I know I never will be. Yet I couldn't simply answer his question with a no. I love the written word. I enjoy composing my thoughts and putting them down onto paper or the computer screen. I mull things over until the words overflow and must be written out. I like to take the time to find the right word, the perfect phrase.

No, I'm not a writer. Yes, I am a writer. Both would have been correct answers to that simple question, yet neither would have conveyed the full story. Verbal communication being a weak point for me, I settled for an answer that was less honest and less complete than either of these would have been.

The simple question he asked me lead me to come back to this blog that I abandoned nearly two years ago. I enjoy writing down my thoughts. I hope I will continue to do so rather than abandon this blog again.