A chorus of birds heralded the sun as it broke through the clouds, which dissipated before his eyes. He took in another deep breath and smiled, then started on his way, jumping over the puddles that had taken over the tree-lined path. He didn't know where he was going, but at the moment, he wasn't going to worry about it.—"The Wanderer," from my chapbook, The Ever-Present Moment
It's important, as a writer, to write what you have to write, and then put it out there and hope for the best, sharing being second only to actually sitting down and producing it out of your mind womb.
As I work on this post, I am also preparing some fiction to send out. It is a never-ending quest, or really, seemingly without end, for the time being. When I finally find homes for this set of stories, I will hopefully have finished the four I am currently writing, and start the whole process over again.
It gets easier with every passing year. I hone my skills more, continue the pursuit of the craft, just letting the words pour out of me.
As I find new homes for my writing, I meet new communities and find my place among them, sharing my stories and branching out, rushing headlong into the future.