The Vulnerability of Exposure

I haven't written a blog in a very long time.  It's been so long that the mere act of writing a blog entry is strange to me.  It makes me uncomfortable and vulnerable.  Did I always feel this vulnerable sharing?
                                    
(I know this picture is random-but how else better to capture vulnerability than through a picture of an exposed limb washed ashore on the beach? Note: this is why I'm choosing to be a writer and not a photographer).

I took a break from the blog because a few months ago, I decided to write a book. (I'll talk about that next time). Actually, I think I decided to write a book when I was 5 years old and started chronicling my normal, if not mundane, existence, but it's just been recently that I decided I was going to "take the plunge" and put my feelings into more than just my battered journal.  Since then, I've been drowning in my own thoughts, gasping for breaths of clarity and cohesiveness.  I certainly don't have trouble sitting down to write, it's just that when I write it results in page after page of garbled gook--full of random sentences and quotes and paragraphs of questions and wronged word choices and rhymes.  It's been a scary and wonderful and frustrating process so far. Part of this process, however, needs to be the reincorporation of my blog. 

I need to share my writing because it makes me feel exposed and feeling exposed makes me vulnerable and vulnerability makes me reflect on why I feel vulnerable and reflection allows me to speak in my truest voice.

So, I'm back to blogging; undoubtedly sharing some of my incomplete chapters and my confused reflections. Here's to vulnerability. And doll's limbs on abandoned beaches.