Okay, the Viagra story would have been a lot funnier if the person it was about wasn't sitting next to me but I got carried away. I swear I don't know what comes over me when the storyteller demon comes screaming out like a Jersey Shore banshee. Yes, I can blame it on gin or cheap lambrusco and even garlic bread has a strange effect on me and yes I'm allergic to peppers but I can't pass up anything stuffed with cheese so I succumbed to popper seduction more times than I can count and yes yes yes that affected me too.
Today I'm blaming it all on a pot of bold blast something-something coffee. It has extra caffeine which I'm really sensitive to in minute amounts so yeah..that'll work especially since I've been bouncing off the walls like a Superball since noon.
I think it's an addiction to applause or laughter or having everyone on the edge of their seat. I come from a long line of storytellers or bullshit artists or like Mel Brooks in History of the World, stand-up philosophers, so it's inherent. Whether genetic or environment I've been lovingly cultivated like a hothouse orchid to make people laugh, weep or think and it's so effortless that I feel it would be dishonest to take any credit for it. To say that I stand in awe of some of the shit I come up with is not bragging....I really don't know where it's coming from and even worse, when I'm gonna blurt it out. My inner censor was always much more of a polite suggester only -that weak little angel on my shoulder that the little devil would smack around and say, "Shut up, bitch. Who's yer daddy?"
People often send me emails and messages or comments on Facebook saying they wish they were like me or more like me or as quick as me but I don't really think they would if they knew the havoc I wreak with my mouth or fast little fingers....my mind is constantly racing and obsessing, often all night long and when something comes to me the focus is so sharp and fixed I think of nothing else. If I don't talk about it I write and woe to the person upon whom my talent is inflicted. You might remember The Love Letters of Doooooom but there's countless other missives, poetry and essays I don't mention or submit for your approval (cue very appropriate Twilight Zone music) because after my general hysteria dies down, the evidence could and would be used against me not to mention people tend to look at me funny.
I'm channeling some of that energy into The Book. I've hit a bit of a slump now but Santa Claus has bought me a brand new big girl laptop and I'm dedicated to getting back to it in the new year. You're supposed to write about what you know and I know a lot about what I'm writing and it's become really cathartic and therapeutic.If only I could stop thinking of decorating the laptop in My Pretty Pony stickers since that model didn't come in pink but I digress.
I'm excited but also dreading it. My creativity has often been like an unruly puppy that everyone loves but no one wants to clean up after and the idea of reining in that puppy to make it a more productive working dog does have a lot of appeal but I'm worried that discipline will take all the joy and exuberance out of it. Still...I trudge on because I'm a hopeless optimist and romantic (the book is romance novel--chick-lit to be exact) and want it and me to have a happy ending which at the moment is unbelievably elusive but still worth the effort.
Someone asked me about my dreams and I couldn't answer because I thought I had none. I'd been so busy supporting other's dreams that I'd set aside my own. I gave it a lot of thought though and did come up with some good ones I'd suppressed and one of them was to be renowned for something. Since being an axe murderer or mother to the world's first surviving octuplets is already taken, I'd be happy with 'successful writer'.
My friend who's a psychic saw a future full of promise and even fame and while it seems so outlandish I do like the fairy-tale aspects like walking a red carpet in Hollywood and kissing at the top of the Eiffel Tower. My friend saw me sharing this future with a special someone and that person is unfortunately not part of the equation anymore but she still sees ME accomplishing these things on my own which astounded me. Again I thought I would be in some supportive role but she assures me that no....actually it's me...and then I think about the book and I realize in some ways that she wasn't wrong at all and I may start out on my epic adventure alone and unsure but the journey and the story is worth it.
A while back an acquaintance asked me if I was a writer and at the time I didn't really identify as one and asked him why he thought I was. He said he could tell from my Facebook pictures that I have a story to tell. Another said the same thing...only that I had many stories to tell and it's funny because that's what I've been doing my whole life.
When you are given a gift and don't recognize it for what it is, you're foolish and ungrateful. When you refuse that gift, it may be lost to you forever. I'm choosing to learn from both what I've lost and what I have to give and running as far as I can with it. Apologies in advance if I embarrass you along the way. But if I do, remind me to mention you when I'm up on that podium giving my acceptance speech. I promise whatever I say, will be funny.