Something happened today, a small yet seismic shift inside me. I have had the temerity to call myself a writer for a little while now. Today, despite still only having had one thing published on the net three years ago, I really feel like one, in blood and bone. Why? What has changed, and how, and WHY? Truth is, I don’t know – I can’t explain it, even to myself, and I don’t care. It is enough to feel this good about something so brilliantly frustrating, and exhilarating, and mind bending. I have nothing but good feelings about the short story currently being edited, and the one to be edited after that, and the two that I am in the process of writing. Think I can get them done before the end of the month? I hope so, for NaNoWriMo has yet to begin.