**If you are here for the tour and the Canadian Maple Leaf table...please scroll down to the next post! I didn't realize it would not show up when you stopped by from the beautiful home of Stone Gable. Sorry. You can read this post too, if you like, but it doesn't have any project. Just true confessions.*
Buck Russell: I don't think I want to know a six-year-old who isn't a dreamer, or a sillyheart. And I sure don't want to know one who takes their student career seriously. I don't have a college degree. I don't even have a job. But I know a good kid when I see one. Because they're ALL good kids, until dried-out, brain-dead skags like you drag them down and convince them they're no good. You so much as scowl at my niece, or any other kid in this school, and I hear about it, and I'm coming looking for you!
(Thanks, Teen Wolf, for reminding me that my silly heart is what makes me, me.)
Where do I start? (And this will be a lengthy post, so you can bear with me or not. But if you are a new reader, I’d love for you to continue. It will explain some stuff.)
I had already written a good chunk of this post before the mess hit the fan, but then I decided to go back and start again because it was the right thing to do. (And I can’t get the font to match, so maybe you can tell which is part of the old post and which is part of the rewrite.)
I think it’s time we talk.
Some of you (maybe only those of you who were English majors) might know about literary persona. A literary persona is the narrator (character) who tells the story. A persona gives the story it’s “voice.” It’s a make-believe person who tells a story.
Let me be perfectly honest here: I write my blog. People are only able to guest post because I love them and I invite them and I know my readers will “get” them. There is nothing on my blog which I do not personally endorse.
But the owls are not what they seem. (Ten points for you if you get the Twin Peaks reference.)
(This is the Log Lady. I currently wear glasses exactly like these. What can I say? Fashion is on a 20 year cycle. I'm waiting for "mom jeans" to come back.)
Like a Drag Queen on Facebook, I have to assume an alternate personality. Why? My life is boring. If I told you what really goes on…well, there wouldn’t be a reason to read this blog, and it would be absolutely no fun to write. In the spirit of entertaining myself (and maybe a couple of readers), I developed (as the narrator of the story) a persona.
A persona makes the story a LOT more interesting. A persona has a distinct personality and voice. A persona can make friends or enemies. Here’s why I developed a persona, instead of writing as myself:
(This is the one thing I actually got invited to this summer. Thanks, theatre peeps!)
My persona is WAAAYYY cooler than I am. My persona is a borderline alcoholic. In reality, I have a “one and done” limit, unless it’s a special occasion, and even then it’s “two and through.” Those of you who believe I am on Bourbon Street collecting beads for my drunken escapades will undoubtedly be disappointed. My persona is a hard-a$$ who will steal things and then get mouthy with the cops. In reality, I don’t even speed because I’m still recovering from a ticket I got in 2002. My persona has ridiculous conversations and harebrained ideas and so much fun she can hardly stand it. And she’s funny as heck.
And then there’s me.
I am a peripheral person. I am the annoying girl who used to sit next to you in Social Studies class…the one who tried to get your attention by cracking jokes or knowing all the answers. The one who sat in the cafeteria by herself with a book, after she stopped by your table to sing a chorus of "Downtown" by Petula Clark. You know…the one who was always on the fringes, but never in the mix. No date for the prom, Saturday nights spent babysitting….the "weird" one.
(Now, before you feel bad about this, don’t. I am an introvert, so a lot of socializing leaves me both exhausted and anxious. When I get with other people in real life, all I can think of is how I am saying or doing the wrong thing and how dorky I am and how I will never be invited to anything again, which is pretty much true. It's stressful. Also, as a writer, being on the fringes gives me the opportunity to observe without being involved. The first rule of being an annoying girl is “Don’t Get Involved...because everyone thinks you’re a dork.”)
(This is the dorky trio. Our baby is the ‘cool’ one. She lives and works in Manhattan, with other cool people.)
I always believed that I had a talent as a writer and story-teller and believed the blog was the perfect place to showcase that. After all, I’d kept a journal for almost ten years, and this was like a journal, right? But while my journal (1973-1982) was full of real-life teenage drama, my grown-up life was laughably dull. Nearly everything is embellished or is inspired by something that happened to someone else and may be grounded in reality but is not reality itself. Because humor is organic, and writing is a process that occurs at a later date. And for some of my readers, like Mr. Thicke, those lines were blurred. Who is this old broad anyway?
This old broad is someone who has become reliant on her online friends to bring a little joy to her day. This old broad lives a fairly solitary life with a part-time husband and two cats. She has a crappy old house that needs fixing beyond her skill level (and was supposed to be done by now, because the husband was supposed to be RETIRED by now but then they sweetened the pot so that he would stay, yet no one is working on this HORRIBLE HOUSE except for a few DIYs here and there, which is like a drop of rain in an overflowing bucket and then there are all these MICE), and a job that is more often frustrating than not, trying to teach literature to teenagers who can't or don't want to read because they would rather play with cellphones, which is ENCOURAGED by the county because they can't afford to put more computers in the classrooms. And now she has folks telling her that she’s a bad person, even when it’s her persona causing all the trouble.
Trust me, these ladies (and Bliss and Cassie and Lynn and Linda and Tina and Suzan and the list goes on and on) would not be friends with someone who is a criminal. (Okay…maybe someone who just commits SMALL crimes, but that’s neither here nor there.) But they will embrace (figuratively) a woman who is still that dorky annoying girl, even though she pretends to be something else.
What I write has its roots in reality, but like the annoying girl that I am, I can’t leave it alone. I have to tell a story.