Okay, I'll fess up. I am a shameless self-promoter. Yes, I blog for the writing and for you, my Gentle Readers, but it's also nice to get feedback and see real-world data that makes the feedback … um … exciting.

So, some time back I nominated my own site, yes this site right here, in the "Religion" category at the Blogger's Choice Awards (I waited till now to mention it because Alexa, which generates the thumbnails for the contest, kept pulling in a screenshot for my site that was showing a brain-dead URL.) I am sure this self-nomination is a mark of my own immaturity. And I'm okay with that — while also recognizing there's probably something there worth analyzing … someday.

Do I think I have a lollipop's chance in kindergarten of actually

I love it when writers I enjoy get reflective and journal their process — when they slice open their artistic arteries and bleed out on the page, revealing what courses through their hearts. That's why I enjoy [reading] writing books like Stephen King's memoir on writing, as well as David Morrell's, Ray Bradbury's, Anne Lamott's, Frank McCourt's (though more about teaching than writing), Nancy Kress's, a collection of essays on writers and their public mortification and, of course, Orson Scott Card's excellent work.