I was approached online last year by one of the founders of cre8buzz - http://www.cre8buzz.com and asked if I would like to be a 'buzzbuilder' for the photography community.
Cre8Buzz is a user content based community in which the purpose is to 'be seen, be heard, be found'. Basically giving the little guy on the web some exposure.

I liked the idea of cre8Buzz but could I build up a photo community? I had my doubts - but I accepted the challenge and began looking through my online contacts to see who I could invite to join the site in its 'Beta' stage.
Slowly I put the feelers out and asked around and sent out invites to those interested and slowly the photography community began to grow. As did the other communities within cre8Buzz. There are artists, writers, moms, realtors, dads, friends, religious, spiritual, food communities and so many more to pick from.

You can upload images, videos and audio - you can highlight your own personal blog/s - you can leave comments and rate other folks work. The higher your ranking the more exposure you get. But the community is friendly, mature, fun, educational, funny, inspiring and so much more.

You can use stumbleupon, digg etc to highlight content.

The founders of cre8Buzz ask for and appreciate regular user input - we have regular buzz board meetings via conference calls. In all it is user based. It has gone live on the web and anyone can join in the fun and gain exposure.

In addition to cre8Buzz is the blog 'the anthill' - it is a blog for any member of cre8Buzz to post content... making it a single blog with 1000's of authors.

Why not take a look for yourself and gain your blog/s more exposure and meet some incredibly talented people - http://www.cre8buzz.com

Spoken words so often fail me
and on darker days my ink runs dry
knowing expression will set me free
I sometimes break down and cry.

Wishing you could hear me, deep inside
I crawl through the alphabet in search
of ways to begin, but instead I hide
in fear as I feel my stomach lurch.

Isolated, I am always haunted
by my mind and its tricks at hand
as it taunts I am left daunted
that nobody can really understand.

At the weekend I sold a poem. The first poem I have ever sold. It is a deeply personal poem which I was inspired to write last year after the death of my father.

as with each season's turn of leaf

and darkness fell silent that night
one man's freedom, another's fight
such disbelief and questions rife
yet, even in death, there is life

distorted shadows ebb and flow
shrouding all as I let you go,
but out of the depths that I mourn
a renewed sense of hope is born

as with each season's turn of leaf
hands of time will encircle grief,
under rainbows of hopeful hue
I will whisper a goodbye to you.

Struggling with Borderline Personality Disorder, I hope to share my experience and thoughts to help break the stigma of mental illness and be seen for who I am.

But... on reflection, who I am? I am not my illness although that seems hard to fathom when I have a personality disorder. How do we define ourselves without some expression of our personality?

Society, in my experience, tends to view those with mental illness with suspicion and fear or view us as 'stupid' or without feelings or credibility.

But mental illness is so prevalent. 1 in 4 will suffer from some form of mental illness in their lifetime.

If I had a broken leg or any other physical illness... I would be supported and be given compassion and understanding. I would not feel shame or be embarrassed about it. Yet, mention anything to do with the brain and mental illness and people tend to react negatively. Why is that?

Free Polls - Take My Poll

A mug of black coffee, three hours cold, remains forgotten on yesterday's newspaper which is vandalized by circled classifieds and random doodles.

The curtains remain closed, even though I am aware it is now daylight; I do not need to look outside to see, when I can hear the faint drizzle puncture my consciousness as it falls against my window.

Maybe, I think to myself, I can get away with not cleaning the windows for another month or so. I must remember to jot down in my ever growing to-do list, wherever that might be so misplaced are my many notepads and untidy scribbles, in this chaos of a room. I wonder if the chaos in my room is connected to the chaos in my mind and the chaos of my world.

Interrupted by these thoughts, I break away momentarily from my writing and stretch my weary body. A spontaneous sigh escapes into the atmosphere as I rub my eyes. I know the shadows will pass but I remain in a pose of confused dejection. I'm bothered and restless.

How odd it is to feel a stranger in one's own mind, home and life. How could so much change in a such a short time frame? It seems unreal and yet the agony, prolonged. Uncertainties backed up and vying for attention press into my thoughts. My eyes fix onto nothing in particular and begin to water and blur with the effort - such is the blur of life.

I rest my elbows on the desk and sink my face into my hands and they feel the contortion of my face as I yawn. I rub my hands together to rid the warm moisture from my breath and try to focus. A nagging thought of I should sleep irritates but sleep evades when creativity grips you tightly. Perhaps a fresh coffee will appease these agitations.

My brow, a tell-tale of worries, re-focuses and my fingers again begin to caress the keyboard, almost subconsciously. A drive, a need, call it what you will. I have nothing and everything to say but it is finding the valve of release - isn't that what we all seek?, in some way? Release.

I am not writing to a deadline just for the satisfaction of doing so. I wonder if those who don't write understand this process. In fact, do I understand it fully myself?

Like a magician I conjure up words from nowhere. They pop up and I juggle them around like a street performer; only this performance is so much more private - intimate.

And so another few hours will pass to composition masturbation. Certainly there is a mix of frustration and satisfaction involved as I read over and edit, ever the perfectionist.

Although my first craft fair at the beginning of this month proved to be somewhat disappointing, mainly due to poor turnout, I am still upbeat and positive as I go into my second craft fair this weekend.
My venture into trying to sell my work is an ongoing struggle and challenge.
Struggle... because I have crippling doubts and insecurities in my ability to cope with the effort involved, and challenge... my attempt to view this all as an adventure. Nothing more nothing less.
I have no illusions that I will make a huge amount of money or become an overnight success but at the same time I have to have some form of belief in what I am doing.
Small steps. That's what I must remember and put each setback in perspective.
In these early days it is all a process and a learning curve. I am still coming to terms with the uncomfortable feeling I have about showing my work to the public. I have not found my niche and am unsure where to focus my work. Stick to photographs or concentrate on my abstract work. I guess time will tell.
But do I do what I like and what makes me happy or do I try to cater for the buying market? Questions questions.