return of the prodigal blogger

She enters tentatively, ducking her face away and trying to hide a grimace.

It's been a while.  

Sorry.

I'd like to be able to say that I've been squirreled away writing or so engrossed in reading gorgeous literary prose that I have not come up for air.  Or to blog.  Alas.  No.

I have not blogged because I have not been writing and I have been reading crap that isn't worth blogging about.  Intentional crap.  Therapeutic crap.  I got a bit overwhelmed with my attempts to become a writer and  I forgot how much I loved words.  And stories.  And reading.  So I hid for a little while to rediscover it all.

And what brought me back?  A word.  

Snick.

While reading one of those crap stories that I am only willing to read on the subway thanks to the literary trench coat of an e-reader (won't even read it on the couch at home, where my husband might ask, "what are you reading?") I came across the word, "snick."  Used as a verb, to click.  And it had a great onomatopoetic quality.  The word was so satisfying I think I sighed.  Even amidst the schlock I found so perfectly used a word that it reminded me of my love for words.
 Hello.  
I am writing again.  
I am blogging.  
And I am currently reading a book of essays about Jane Austen that I am perfectly happy to be seen with on the subway.