I suppose we all have a story inside us. Some have a compulsive need to expel their misery on blank pages, while others have a burning desire to blurt out their compulsive joy, as if they owned a key to some inner sanctum that they invite us to join.

I have laughed hysterically at some of the submissions and for that matter, at some reviews of my own work. I have been moved, well beyond tears, and travelled through hearts and fears.

At this very vulnerable time of year, I would like to extend my compassion. I can't fix broken souls or repair shattered dreams, but I can thank you all for letting me walk beside you in your most intimate moments. I can tell you with sincere honesty that my life has been greatly enriched by joining your journey, measured in word counts and spag..

When I hooked up to this site I did so after trifling with writing courses and college campuses, but I never took myself seriously. My reality seemed to reward me for real labor. Writing, just as my early experiments with drama, theatre and music, simply fell flat and if that wasn't bad enough, I denigrated my own abilities, just like you; I had people who told me not to give up my day job.

I am a Canadian, but that doesn't stop me from claiming all of North America under my umbrella of glittering generalities. This continent doesn't reward culture. Poetry has no vehicle with which to ride or entertain. It takes a massive amount of reviewing for a poet to muster up the Fantasy dollars to be heard. If not here, then where will these talented lyricists find a home? Occasionally I wish that Harry Chapin was still alive and sometimes when I read a poetry submission, I wish Springsteen was in the room, but wishes and six star reviews don't go far in our shallow dream world.

I am not a poet. I won a poetry contest once, by puking on a page, but even that short adventure was only supported by a miniscule amount of votes. Maybe I just got lucky that day. But for the truly talented poets out there, please accept my heartfelt sympathies and admiration for the passion that must go into your work.

For the rest of you, here is my simple Christmas message. Get over it! If you have been on this site for a year and are a regular contributor, you are a writer! Stop counting on idiots like me to feed your ego. Enter contests, submit to magazines; explore the marketing conditions beyond the Spag Grammar Queens. Tally up the receipts on your Visa bill to see what the validation of your abilities really cost.

While you are at it, chop the bill in half and make a contribution to the food bank or buy some toys for the Salvation Army. If we can sit in our dimly lit living rooms talking about pain or joy to an anonymous computer, then surely we can pull the drapes and embrace the fact that while we homogenize our experiences and drop them carelessly into cyberspace, there are real people out there who are hungry, lonely and sad.

There are some brilliant writers in our community and I am one of them! Fine, give me a crappy review. This is not a contest entry.

Please make Christmas live up to your highest level of excellence and noblest of all adjectives. Most importantly, be kind to yourself.