visions 17 April 2002

The time has come, the time is now.

Time to close up shop. Time to turn out the light on visions and revisions, time to move on – or rather – to admit that I’ve already moved on and merge content with form.

Time to say goodbye to the journey that started with an innocent page, a desire to reach out with my words, to find an audience. A journey that turned introspective and then turned into something completely unexpected: a real-life real-time story of a child and a crisis.

Once there was a woman who toyed with the idea of writing her life in public. Who thought "nah, that’s ridiculous" but who went ahead and did it anyway. Once there was a woman who learned, through this public writing, that she wasn’t living the life she thought, that she was treading water and hoping to grow wings and rise up out of the water. Once there was a woman who learned through this public writing how very much she loved writing after all. Story telling. Words. Emotions. Direct from me to you and maybe reflected back again from you to me in the ways of readers and writers and the direct fingertip to fingertip ongoing dialogue between the two. Once there was a woman who discovered she didn’t need wings or magic carpets, she just needed to learn to swim in the sea all around her.

Once there was a woman. Once there was a journal.

Once. But no more. The woman’s life changed. The journal changed too, shifting from memory pieces and slice of life and writing angst, to a narrowly focussed drama unfolding in her house and in her heart. And the soft light of a stained glass lamp, the typewriter font on the front page, even the "who am I and why is this here" section, all felt like memories of a life gone by.

Once upon a time there was a journal called visions and revisions. But those days are gone.

Now there’s a journal named Hidden Laughter, about a boy and his mom and a life unfolding. I hope you’ll join us there.