I’m a bit of a blog junkie, but don’t comment often on them. You’re supposed to get your name out there and comment on lots of blogs so that people find your link and discover your blog. My book needs publicity, but I don’t, and I don’t feel a compulsion to get my name out there, so I’m not driven to do lots of commenting.

What I like best is to have friends who blog, and when they post, I like knowing their email address, and being able to connect via email or Google Chat and have this dialogue going behind the scenes. I like that hugely.

That’s what’s happening with me and my friend Shari these days. Years ago, we were in the same writers’ critique group, and I always liked her pieces, plus her input and advice on what others wrote. Now she’s writing again, and I love to see it.

I think she’s brave and compassionate, intelligent and insightful. She blogs for love of words, and in that she’s able to speak for those who don’t write, but who feel the things deeply, and are happy to find someone who is walking with them who understands. Which is, I think, what our blogs are–not publicity so much as a way to communicate and identify with each other and not feel so alone.

A couples weeks ago, Shari wrote a post on beauty that gave me deep things to think about. I know it’s true that every woman wants to know she’s beautiful, and Shari put into words what is true–that our soul reveals itself and make us beautiful or otherwise, and no creams or colors can hide that. It makes me hope that my wrinkles are/will be from smiles and laughter.

As we mature, we find our inside becoming slowly, inexorably etched on our outside. I know this is true. I have seen it over and over. I love reading faces, and have case-studied this as extensively as possible in my small 29 years, particularly in the 28 ¾ in which I’ve been aware of beauty. People start to look more and more like who they are. It scares the willies out of me.

Each of us is given the wonderful opportunity/ terrible responsibility of painting our own faces. Before 30, only a glimpse of our work shows. After 30… oh boy. Then the peace of my heart begins to take a permanent place on my forehead. Then the bitterness of my soul finds a lasting home in the shape of my chin. Then joy begins to cling to the corners of my mouth. Then anger-in-private carves deep lines in public, to be seen by all. Then humility and confidence awaken visibly, like a halo around my face.

At first, it’s apparent only to those with sharp eyes. Soon, any casual observer can read it. (Isn’t it ironic that many of us find spouses before our souls start to show? Oh boys, beware, beware.)

If you like honest women’s blogs, you’ll like Shari’s. You’ll agree sometimes and giggle other times, like a recent post and its ensuing comments amused me.

Proud of you, Shari, and someday we’ll talk in real space and time again over coffee!