The thing about who I am is that I like to talk. Growing up, when I couldn’t talk, I sang, when I couldn’t sing I wrote. It was a life of an artistically confused but perpetually creative soul. But, to be honest, I still feel that same way. But things have changed. The of days of typing up little kid versions of imaginary magazines turned into blogging and scribbling notes on the wood molding that surrounded my room turned into Twitter.

…I write on Karmacake because it’s organic to me, I don’t do it for an audience, I do it for me first and when it evolves from that – well I go….

I’m a communicator. Because of that I’m a renegade in my family. Instead of journalism school in Toronto, I went to music school in Sackville, NB. Every step of the way I’ve tried to strike a balance without taking that lead of faith into the unknown. Even know, Karmacake sits 30% of its true potential because something’s holding me back.

I’m not here to compete, I don’t care. There are people who blog who do it a thousand times better than I do it. Some even go so far as to create bizarre stories about my opinions of them based upon fiction and made up memories. The idea that there could be anyone who cares so much to fabricate a reason for my low opinion of them is ridiculous – I didn’t know I had so much power. So, I pushed back, again. I write on Karmacake because it’s organic to me, I don’t do it for an audience, I do it for me first and when it evolves from that – well I go.

So why did I stop? Fear. Fear of success. Fear of failure. Fear of involving myself with something that I love that would inevitably turn into work and I would be forced to lived with it in stubborn marriage of necessity. That’s not me. I’m a fucking phoenix who rises from the ashes and makes things good. I help other people, I care about them. I want everyone to do well and now that’s going to have to include me.

Karmacake is my home. Bitches, get ready.

Header image by ~nasimo Click Here if you want it