Writing, Art, and Music: finding meaning in a troubled world

I’ve been writing stories and essays and bad poetry for as long as I can remember. And I’ve been drawing and singing and wishing I could play guitar for just as long. I took the obligatory piano lessons, played the flute in the junior high band, sang in the choir—school and church—and learned a few chords on the Sears guitar my mom bought me when I was in the sixth grade (or thereabout).