Lori Sizemore

Post Secret, how I love thee.

So, here’s how it works. Every Sunday, Frank (of Post Secret) posts a series of post cards he received through the mail. Each one of them, each anonymous one of them, tells a secret. They’re beautifully made pieces of art that expose a corner of the sender’s soul or life.

Some people find the site depressing, even disturbing. And some of the post cards can be. But I am so in love with the idea of freeing yourself from something you’re ashamed of. So ashamed, in fact, you’ve let it take over your life. Just put it out there and go on. It’s the stuff good fiction is made of, isn’t it? More importantly, it’s the stuff great lives are made of.

FYI: I wrote the word post 5 times. :-| I is a writer.

I don’t care who you are, there’s some perverse pride in writing in a notebook like this. It says, loud and proud, though without actually speaking, “Yeah. I’m probably writing dirty sex scenes. You gotta problem with that?” Or something like that. Maybe that’s just me, your mileage my vary.

I want to apologize for being MIA for so long. I had some issues with my internet provider… and by issues I mean they canceled my internet and the four subsequent orders for service.

I finally gave up and went with someone else. Very good. And then I lost a dear friend suddenly. She was my first reader. And I don’t mean first reader as in the first person I showed my stuff to, I mean my first reader ever. Of course, losing my reader isn’t the thing… it’s that she’s the first person I ever felt safe exposing myself that way. I said this, to her, at the time:

I love you too. You’re the only person in the whole world I could show this to. I don’t know how to put into words what that means, but it’s very special to me.

I don’t guess that actually says all that much to the untrained eye, but that was the best thing. She knew.

Anyway. I’m back. I’m going to keep pushing on because even when it makes me crazy, it makes me whole. And because that’s what she’d have done. And she’d have kicked my ass if I quit.