I am always
late.
I didn’t
learn to tie my shoelaces until I was in 2nd grade. Believe me, it helps when you have a really
good friend who doesn’t judge you as she ties them for you during recess.
I didn’t experience
my first kiss until I was 21. Well,
first real kiss. A kissing booth at a
church does not count and, in hindsight, is completely absurd.
I didn’t put
myself out there as a writer until I was 39. Even then I did it backwards. Perhaps I should have blogged for a while and
then released my e-books, not the other way around. Either way, I did it and no one can take that
accomplishment away from me.
Now I wonder
what kind of writer I am. Surely not mainstream,
but not cool/edgy either. Goofy is
typically the word I use to describe my scribbling. Rarely serious, because I’ve learned that
when I write with serious emotion, I am often misunderstood. Maybe too many of my other writings are full
of levity and satire, or perhaps I can’t write strictly serious. My soul might
not be deep enough and my agile tongue continually aims for my cheek.
Then I
wonder what genre my fiction veers toward.
Satire isn’t completely accurate, because while there are satirical
elements in my e-books and blog fiction, they are not just satire. I hate the notion of one book being one
thing. Life is not one thing, so how can
a representation of life be labeled one thing?
I guess I
write what I write. If people read it,
that is awesome! If people don’t read
it, that is their loss. Besides, it
wouldn’t make a difference. I would
continue to write since I write for myself.
Been doing so since I learned to tie my shoes.
Be well and Freak Out,
JLH
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