The funny thing about overhearing that jab, and that being funny as in a paradox of many ironies, was committing the quip to memory. True, the guy wasn't making stuff up. I’d been hearing variations of this riddle since I was a very little girl, and from the mouths of everyone from family, to educators, to potential employers even…such as publishers…enough noise to awake the doeyiest-eyed wannabe writer.
Therein, and just maybe, lies other unmusical irony for why I remember the jest. It’s that kaleidoscope of writers, with fingers crossed, fakin’ it ‘til they make it, hoping, like lotto ticket holders, to catch a lucky break, when the luckiest break of all is being able to find a space in time where you can elope to a cozy den, perhaps facing a lit fireplace, cup of coffee to your left, or glass of wine…your pick, legs crossed at the ankles, no life interruptions, thoughts galore and the only noise in the room is the click of your fingers dancing across a keyboard, all in circuitous satire to entertain folk. That’s called gratitude. Being grateful.
Now, I just took a quick break to read the coolest memoir, pun coincidentally unintended. ‘why I’m like this’ by cynthia kaplan. (My thoughts here)
#stillwriting #stillrevising #writerlife #readanothergreatmemoir #justblogged #gratitude