Lately I’ve noticed that the stuff of my life has been falling mostly in the middle.   The grey zone, I’m going to call it.  I always knew that there was really no black or white in this existence, but I think I tried so hard to make it so.  Rather than listen to my own heart, I have been following the needs and desires of others, and I have truly paid for it.  Living in the grey zone (and yes, I know that even my choice of spelling of the word “grey” will be unpopular and an annoyance to some) is not easy, but it is what it is, to quote a dear friend.  My subject matter – whether I’m writing fiction or nonfiction – is almost always controversial, mirroring the life I lead.  It sits uncomfortably deep in the grey zone, waiting for someone to take it by the hand and lead it into their world to bandy it about, perhaps giving it a home in a more relaxed space.

            One more thing.  You won’t find much writing about writing here, because that, frankly, bores me.  What you will find, is writing about life.  And if I do write about writing, you can bet it will be controversial, ‘cause I really don’t believe that even the placement of words on a page is black and white.