That's pretty much how I feel when I look at my deviantart account anymore, honestly.  I put down 'writer', but all you find is a poem and a snippet of a story I wrote and burned myself out on when I realized how much it was like the other things I've written.  Anything I do write never makes it to the internet, and not because I'm afraid of art theft.  Instead of "it's not good enough", I just don't think about it, and thus it doesn't make it to my own page.

So if I'm doing that, why in the world call myself anything more than a hobbyist artist on a website for art?  I draw my own characters and submit them, but no one ever sees or knows anything about them beyond what I put in the comments under each picture.  It's like hoarding a giant German double-chocolate cake all to myself - and I'm a diabetic!  Not only that, but I swear someone put some form of poison in the cake...

So here's to attempting to stick to a story, work, cry, bleed, and sweat through it, and come out the other end satisfied that I did it.  That I wrote it without NaNoWriMo lighting a fire under my ass and being able to related to the people that bother to check my stuff out (I love you guys! )

In other news, it's getting close to a year since Mom died, and I still find myself turning around and starting to speak, just to realize she's not there anymore.  I think some things will always stick with me like that when it comes to habits, but I really just wonder where the past 12 months have gone to.  They weren't kidding when they said that the first year is a blur of numb thoughts while you just try to survive and figure out how to make it day by day.