It occurs to me that fiction is where I tell you what I really think and feel about things. A journal or diary makes me very self conscious. And while I have, in fact, taken off my clothes in public on occasion, it’s always been backstage, say in a big chorus for the college opera, or the “dressing room” in St George—again with a couple of dozen other performers--or the parking lot at the Renaissance Faire where no one was paying attention anyway. I’ve never done it to entertain, or persuade, or make a point.
Poetry works for me too, though in a more compressed and dare I say refined sort of way.
This all speaks to the reasons why I’ve resisted blogs or Live Journal or any such thing up till now. So now here I am, telling you how I feel about that. Throwing off my clothes!