Hello again friends. I had planned to write a post in the fall, but time seems to have gotten away from me and it's now the beginning of December. Regardless, I'd like to share a poem I wrote during the fall season. It was written while I was at my favorite, and most peaceful place I know, “Elk Camp.” Located at 10,000 feet in elevation somewhere in the Colorado mountains. No, I will not go into further detail on its location, but this place has been a source of peace for me since I was a young girl. My dad started bringing my sister and I there to elk hunt when we were probably around the ages of 14-15, maybe slightly younger even. From the first time I rode in my dad's truck up the winding and rocky road towards our camp, it has been one of my favorite places on earth. I have never experienced somewhere as quiet and beautiful as our little valley. It truly is our own little slice of heaven. We get to go up there once a year with a handful of close friends for elk hunting season, and it’s the week of the year that I start counting down to the moment our tires leave the rutted dirt road that takes you there.

Tonight, I finally felt a spark to write and post again. I’m sitting here reading through a bunch of my poems and I have no idea what I feel like sharing. This is the hardest part for me about this blog. As I’ve mentioned before, most of my poetry and writing is highly personal and includes many dark themes. Sometimes I’ve felt I need to put a disclaimer before them or a ‘trigger warning’. And that sometimes keeps me from wanting to share. I still don’t know if that’s something I should do or not. It seems like in the world we live in everything must come with a warning. WARNING, this may cause cancer…. DISCLAIMER, results may be varied…. **trigger warning**…. I personally don’t think it’s a bad thing for the reader, because we all have different amounts of mental space to read those types of things. But for me as a writer, it makes me feel like I have to warn people about my story. Warn them that there are parts that are really dark, so dark you can’t even see your hand in front of your face. But then that feels like I’m trying to water myself down to be more acceptable or palatable to the reader. I do want to respect people's mental health and boundaries as well though. It’s been a juxtaposition of feelings ever since I considered sharing my poetry.

I’ve been agonizing over writing the next post for this blog for months now. Every time I think about uploading and writing a new one, I can come up with all the reasons why I shouldn’t. But here I am tonight at almost 8 pm finally sitting here on the couch while eating some dinner, writing. I am a very self-aware person, almost to a fault sometimes because I overanalyze everything. I overanalyze what poem out of my collection I should put on here next, what should I write as an intro, should I even write an intro? The thoughts just swirl around until I’m paralyzed. Paralyzed into inaction and if I’m being honest, paralyzed into fear.

     This poem is one I have written recently that captures the reclamation of self. I like to compare this to the destruction of wildfires. Surging heat and fire that seemingly can only bring destruction help start a cycle of rejuvenation for the areas they burn.

     Dear readers and friends, welcome to the Wilderness Inkwell. This blog has been a long time coming. I’ve had this feeling for over 5 years now, that I wanted to get my writing out there into the world, yet every time I tried to get started, I’d freeze. Then self-doubt crept in…“No one is going to want to read my writing, why even bother?”...”It feels too personal for a stranger on the internet to read”… “What if I fail and no one likes it?” And the fears and excuses went on and on for years. I’d hide behind a wall of perfectionism, trying to find the “perfect” blog site, for the right price with the best features. I’d research for hours making spreadsheets of all the top blog sites and the pro’s and con’s of each, only to freeze again when it came to deciding on the right one. Then I’d accept defeat and save it for “another time.” Well, then a lot of life happened, and here I am 5 years or so years later, finally sitting down to craft my first post. I’m finally telling my anxiety and fears to Fu*k off so that I can get out of my own way.