Dear Readers, all 10 of you, we have reached a milestone. March marks six months of me blogging. Seven months ago, I may not have even known what a blog was. I believe Dr. Seuss had some floating through the air in some bizarre & delightful book that I read over and over to my kids. But this is my blog and I have to admit, I really love my blog. This has been a creative exercise, a challenge, and a reward in itself.
And that is why, friends, I have decided that I must leave you.
Ha ha ha! I'm not leaving. I just always wanted to say that. Okay I'm over that now. Thanks.
I have learned so much. I know how to put photos in, and just last week figured out how to post normal sized, viewable photos that don't require a magnifying glass. This is a breakthrough, because I think pictures are important. I've learned how to link websites and other people's blogs to mine! It's exhausting though. I can't do too much of that in one week. Be patient.
I've learned that this is a weird world, this blogosphere, or blogworld, or bloggoland. I find myself thinking about my blog buddies, and what they're doing right now, and if they've posted something new while they're at work that I'll have to check up on later. I've grown very fond of some of you, which I find almost disturbing, since I don't know what any of you look like (at least not your FACES), I have never seen your handwriting or heard your voices. And I'm amazed by how much I can learn about somebody by reading what they've typed into a little screen. Despite my belief that the intended expression doesn't translate well to words on a screen, look at what I've figured out about people. I've got blog buddies that are funny, or sarcastic, or cynical, or smart, or flirty, or bitter, or bitterly funny.
I've noticed two things: the blogs I like to read are all well written, and interesting to look at. A good blog post is its own little work of art. And you guys are ARTISTS...you know who you are!!!!
This has been so good for my writing skills, which were very rusty. I feel like writing again.
My brain feels better. I had so much to say, and nowhere to say it. I'm still a hick trapped in a lovely subdivision, but I feel like I can hang on to my sense of self when I write regularly. The best part is, I'm writing fiction again. The novel about the two bad teenagers who have even badder boyfriends and do illegal things and get kicked out of school for hitting a girl in the face with a hardcover book is almost finished! The book about the depressed woman in the basement is almost edited! The story about the 11 year old with braces and a guitar obsession is well under way!
The one thing I'm still puzzled about is....who are these 300 people who have looked at my profile? I sure as hell haven't had 300 comments. Go ahead and commentate.
Yep, I feel pretty dang good right now. It shouldn't be too long now before I'm a published author, get rave reviews for my seemingly effortless work in community theatre, and am elected queen of the hick world. And when that day comes, I will finally get my wish. As I back my pickup truck into a particularly tight spot, in one try, without a single mishap, a crowd of onlookers will form in front of me, and when I put it in park, the crowd will break into spontaneous applause, and I will step down, way down, onto the pavement, and graciously thank everybody for their appreciation of my skills.
And then of course, Johnny Depp's People will quietly lead me away and tell me to stop writing about him because it's making him nervous.
Oh, and I've learned that I might need to get what normal people call "a life". Ha!