Why tussle alone in a room, a library, a train with a blank screen and a pen or keyboard, with all of the 171, 476 possible words for use, jostling for attention at one’s elbow and in corner of your inner eye?

What inspires?

What drives a person to tussle and tangle with word and image and structure and page. Why do writers write? There are a host of reasons, as many perhaps as there are human beings with their unique selves looking at the world and wanting to share something of what they see, what they have tasted, heard and lived.

But why do I write…

why might I have the audacity to put a page for you to find, a glowing quietly in its corner, on this miracle of technology of the world wide web?

It’s the questions I have, that life has born in me, the questions, mithering at my heels; the questions tugging me forward, barking and jumping and not tiring, like an eager dog, excited and longing to run with the questions and the adventure that they might lead to…the challenge to find wisdom, that gold of life…

And the stories I have heard, of the secret and really quite amazing things I have been told…