I write…therefore I am.

The World Split Open – Great Authors on How and Why We Write – may end up being one of the most important books I read in my later years. 

Finished the book this morning.  And they saved the best for last, IMO.   What is Art For?  by Jeannette Winterson is HUGE.  Art is the medium by which we make sense of life.  We engage, explore, wrestle with, embrace, run from, and eventually learn to live with, our emotions through art. 

Our cultural economy has become, and has been, money, for centuries.  Money is measurement, and sterile because of this.  There is no soul, ultimately, in money. 

But art.  

We, if we take the time and allow it, we see our selves, our souls, our reason, in and through art. 

The painting allows us to “see” what is real. 

The song allows us to “hear” what is real. 

And story, allows us to “feel” what is real.  What our soul searches for from day one.  The word.  The story.  Who we really are.  We make sense of this world through story. 

I write, therefore I am. 

In the beginning was the word. 

And the word was life. 


Peace always,


Why do I write?

My first book obsession :)

For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to write. I think this desire was born from my absolute love of reading. Makes sense, write? (see what I did there?).

My first book of obsession? “The Monster at the end of This Book” – a Seaseme Street production, staring loveable, furry, Grover.

I made (asked, begged, pleaded, cried until…) my dad read this book to me every night, for I think more than a year. This might be a made up legend in the Emery family, but it feels right and real to me. And, I DID love that book. I can still recite it almost word for word, page by page, without the book in front of me