There is something about my work in Erato that is seeking definition. The strange thing with my Diaryland diary is that it was always a diary and then one day, it ceased to feel like one. I began to feel as though someone on my side of the screen was looking over my shoulder and understanding my clever little code, keeping me from playing secret exhibitionist.

So I escaped. Twelve diaries later--some of which still live, somewhere in the great expanse of this online world--I crawled back and attempted to make Erato work for me again. But there was too much mask, not enough face, too many veils to my bride, when all I wanted to do was kiss her, kiss her abandoned and screaming me awake. But I couldn't find her mouth. Just lace.

I started my LJ while recuperating from all the white skidmarks down the freeway my life had become, not too long after the plate throwing incident, in fact. It was to be a diary of reflection, no more hiding, no more story-telling. Well, of course story-telling. But no more masks, poetic running away.

There were things that needed facing.
There were truths that needed unmaskings.

I agree with you that to write one must live. That is a challenge I am facing now, the need to balance the living and the writing. Too much of one and not enough of the other never works, we need the right combination.

I am pleased to have met you. We will enjoy our discussions.