As a well-funded retiree – that is, reliant neither on Social Security nor the whims of stocks — I have an easy-peasy life. A life that flows, like canoeing down a river, one mile leads to the next, Tuesday follows Monday, obey the rules, portage around dams, don’t approach alligators unless their eyes are closed. (sounds like profound Carl Haissen wisdom, doesn’t it)
For those of you who know me, you’re wondering how I know about canoeing, something I don’t do. The answer, of course, lies in reading, something I do a lot. I also have a good imagination and a wild amount of empathy, so I can relate to canoers I’ve read about in recent books, including the Pulitzer Prize winner. (the protagonist didn’t canoe for long and didn’t have an easy-peasy life)
I am a writer. I wake up in the morning with an urge to use words rather than canoe or attempt another recreational activity. I’ve been dedicated since the early praise of Mrs. Johnson, my third grade teacher. I was only eight and she made me feel important, as if I had something to say. That my mother helped craft the metaphor that won the teacher’s praise was bonus.
I retain this confidence, despite having written plenty of overly fluffy, egregiously awful stuff. As a novice, I couldn’t even apply the common wisdom, attributed to Faulkner, to “kill your darlings” because I couldn’t separate the darlings from the dumb in my early drafts.
Being a writer by habit means that I spend time thinking to myself, which disturbs some people. They think I’m aloof, bored, or wishing someone would amuse me with anecdotes from their life, but I’m likely not: I’m contemplating, plotting, and cogitating.
I also may be absorbing myself in a better reality than the present one provides. Ah, the sweetness of my imagination, where I can bend and shape people, places, and things to my desires.
I’ve married a man who’s unintimidated by my silence; he is a reader, too. He likes to be quiet for long periods of time without engaging in book club-type conversation about themes, plot points, and Interpretations. He’s also a jock, though he’s never tried to make me canoe. Best of all, he’s Beta One when I write!
I don’t mind that he’s the Alpha in my life, my easy-peasy life.
Recent Comments