Allow myself...

…to introduce myself.

Labeling oneself as a “writer” is a liberty used and abused far too often these days. After all, anyone can write. You put pen to paper (or in the modern day, fingers to keys) and viola! You’re a writer.

That’s not to say that anyone who tells you something you didn’t know is a teacher ... or if someone doodles a 3-D cube instead of listening to an endless lecture is an artist… and in case you haven’t noticed, most people wouldn’t have the nerve to call themselves as such.

Unless of course the brunette next to me went through years of art school to perfect that cube in blue ink I see her so hopelessly retracing over and over… then perhaps artist is an appropriate title.

But a writer is different. While many would like to think they’re on the verge of the next great American novel, in reality, these are the same folks who hunt and peck while typing a simple office e-mail.

Then there’s me. I’d like to think that years of enduring journalism courses and slaving away at random publications you’ve likely never heard of, and probably never will, have elevated my self-gratifying (and in case you haven’t gotten the hint yet, shamelessly self promoting) skills from a former-hunter-and-pecker-turned-full-blown-calling-myself-a-writer-whether-anyone-likes-it-or-not scribe.

So with that, I present to you my own 3D cube bathed in blue ink and retraced a thousand times striving for perfection… I hope you enjoy.

And if you don’t, in the now famous words of Curt Schilling to a die-hard Yankee fan who stumbled upon the Sawx pitcher’s blog and promptly let him know exactly where his AL allegiance lie – “craigruby, don’t click on the link – quick and painless that way.”