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When I was five years old, my mother bought me a small pad of rainbow colored paper and a hot pink Flair marker that I had begged her for. Holding these tools, I had an overwhelming desire to express my thoughts, ideas and feelings.

Later, in the privacy of my room, I remember uncapping the marker and holding it, poised on the pad, waiting for the words to flow forth. Except that I didn’t have any particular thoughts or ideas that I could articulate at the time; all I had was the very strong sensation of being inspired. After a minute or so of waiting for something to happen, I looked down at my pad of paper, and was surprised to see that a big pink splotch had spread out from the tip of my pen. I put the cap back on, and tucked the pad of paper back into the drawer in my nightstand, disappointed again by my inadequacies. At that age, I was constantly bumping up against my limitations.

Now that I'm finally and fully an adult, I still experience that thrill of self-expression, of having something I very much need to say. And some days it flows forth, and other days, all I seem able to produce is a big ink splotch.

I live in Southern Maine with my husband JH, and two children, N (11) and G (9); see also G-Joe. I love coastal Maine and cannot imagine a more perfect place to raise a family and live a true life. In this, too, I have days when I am more successful than others, but I strive for meaning and purpose in my life, and I've known — since I was five — that writing helps me do this.

This blog is dedicated to a writer’s flow.