Finally begun is almost won.

Sometimes it takes a person a long time to see what's right in front of them. Sometimes an epiphany is really quite obvious once brought into focus.
Many of my long-time friends will breath the word "finally" upon reading my announcement. I am publishing a book of poetry.
The, as yet untitled, long-time-coming, rather-modest-first-step-into-print, book will explore the theme of the sensual pull of love and longing.
My deadline is optimistically set for September and I boldly note that in part to keep myself on task. I will chronicle my progress here and link this through social media for all those interested in keeping track of the gestation of this curious egg.
For those who do not know me personally, I have been writing poetry and prose since as far back as I can remember. The earliest set of poems I can recall I wrote by hand in a cloth bound book with accompanying images, also drawn by me, at the age of nine. Though my spelling has always been appalling my obsession with words has never diminished.
A relatively recent foray into journalism taught me two things; I love the stories of people's lives and I hate to write them in journalistic format. It also showed me that I did indeed have the soul of a poet and the farther I wandered from it while

looking for what I thought was expected of me the more it pulled me back to verse and stanza.
So, at the well seasoned age of 41, I won't pretend any more. No excuses or apologies. I will write, as I always have done. The only difference now is I will make the effort to share it.