As a kid, I dreamt about becoming a writer. Until Mr. Lo Monaco told us in 10th grade English that if we wanted to write well, we’d have to “get real,” learn to drop our masks and be willing to expose our weaknesses along with our strengths. (I’m paraphrasing, but that’s pretty close.)
I come from a long line of secret-keepers. Stifling feelings and dancing to ignore the ugly was as natural as eating chocolate fudge until I was ready to heave. So I sat in that classroom and thought, Too bad. Maybe I’ll become a buyer for Macy’s.
Mum’s the word; stay in line.
Forty-odd years later, I have to talk. Not about the run-of-the-mill, suburban-catastrophe stuff. There are thousands of writers more skilled at telling those tales. I need to tell a different story…even as part of me longs to cling to the old “keep quiet” philosophy.
Blogging—what better internship before attempting the high-dive?