Confession: I’m looking for a silver bullet. This is it. This blog will solve all....well, maybe three of my problems:
I’m a writer who is not writing. Blah, blah, blah. Enough said.
Cyberwriting terrifies me. It is much easier to write for an audience of two cats, and three forever writing friends than to send words off into cyberspace not knowing where they will land and whether the territory will be hostile or friendly and especially whether the writing is good or stinky. Writing or not writing (why bother?) and whining about not publishing is much easier than being published instantly and accepting my fate. My cats can type but they have their own language (slf^eXkHek!!snf@mw*ejk). If they’ve mastered the internet, they’re not letting on. I live in a small, tight-knit, highly professional neighborhood. Writing something embarrassingly bad ....At least my children are both off at college.
I have a story to tell. I’ve been trying to tell this story ever since I could lift my cue-ball head up from my bear-skin rug and think “Oh, My God...” The fifties was a time of frustrated babies--before there were entire sections in bookstores dedicated to teaching babies to sign–but I’m not bitter. Anyway, first the story was an oral history (10 nearly inaudible cassette tapes in a manila envelop). Then it was non-fiction (pages of transcribed random interviews from said tapes), then memoir (no comment), then fiction ( 250 pages in my desk drawer), then memoir again (I said, no comment).
FAIR WARNING: This whole facebook/blog thing seems a little like an upscale cocktail party where the masterful circulate making pithy comments, never spill their drink and always know exactly when to move on. I’m not good at cocktail parties. I tend to find a conversation and hang on for dear life. Perhaps I’ve cornered you at a recent party. In any case, my story, while compelling, is not an easy one. I’ll do my best to be a better party guest and tell it in bits and snatches with time for snacks, another cocktail, and graceful exits.
That’s it. I’m done.