I write, I rant, I offer tidbits and remains of drafts sit in folders. As I ponder more and more the act and art of writing, how to hone a habit and refine my craft, a certain truth emerges. The truth of the other person in the writing relationship, the reader. And before the reader, there must be a critical and conscientious reader who take a sieve and shifts through all the words, finding the flavors that ought to make it through and the big chunks nobody really wants. I have a dear friend who is a curator, who looks at art as pieces of a puzzle for her to construct and display for the public to then take in. Now I will meditate on the possibility of a trusted and wise editor to come into my writing life, who may help me to take my writing to the public as something more.