I have to be completely honest and tell you that this blog is going to be an experiment to discover my own writing voice, period. Up until now, this voice would sometimes scream like a banshee, swear, whisper, or sound just like Peter Sellers. But now that I don’t get paid to write thousands of words every day for someone else, this little voice just wants to show up and have fun.
While many of you may have the genes that allow you to run like a deer, play the didgeridoo, or look like Salma Hayek, I just seem to have manual dexterity that needs something to do. So I type.
And because I learned to type on a manual typewriter, I type with force and commotion. While I do not come from the deep end of the gene pool, I nevertheless have one skill that borders on a super-power: I can type really fast.
When I was in college, I worked as a student secretary in a university faculty office. This is when I developed into an über-typist. I typed exams, memos, PhD dissertations, and textbooks. I dazzled my co-workers by handling carbon paper with a delicacy and finesse usually reserved for brain surgeons. Now if only I could only find something worthwhile to do with this God-given skill.
Question: Does God really hand out typing skills, along with freckles or a temperamental colon? I wonder about these things in the middle of the night, along with wondering who the hell texted me at 3:17 am.
Eventually, after stumbling around for several years after college, I found that, in addition to typing fast, I could also write fairly well and organize even better. I became a project manager for corporate theme events and later for printer documentation. I didn’t see a correlation between the two jobs at first but, actually, they used the same skill set: Communication, organization, planning, troubleshooting, swearing, and drinking.
I had found my niche.
The down side of being a project manager is that you see everything in life as a something to plan. Planning is a fine thing, as long as you’re talking about international travel, dinner parties, and training for a half-marathon. But it isn’t such a good thing if you’re talking about writing. And if I know nothing else, I know that the creative writing process is much too baffling and mystical to be planned.
I have no delusions that I am a great writer, or even a good one. But at this tender age of 59, I am finally realizing that if I’m not writing, I’m pretty cranky. This lifelong creative urge is finally standing up and screaming, “Do it…or else!”
I don’t know what “…or else!” means, but I think it involves a lot of fried food and vodka martinis, which can’t be good.
I’d like to promise you that I’ll be funny or insightful or clever every week, but I don’t know what I’ll be. But I do know that I’ll enjoy some good espresso and then show up to see what happens…or else. I think that the blog format will somehow make me accountable; a good project manager needs a deadline.
I won’t be discussing politics or religion. I will not be dispensing fashion tips or boomer retirement advice. But I will discuss caffeine, food, and alcohol, at length.
I like to run somewhat long distances, slowly, but can’t seem to give it up. So I will probably tell you more about this than you want to know. My apologies in advance.
You should know that I can be prone to exaggeration, so you might want to divide everything by two.
I hope you’ll want to sign up to read more posts and that you’ll make comments whenever you feel the urge. This blogging thing is completely new to me, so appreciate your patience while I figure it all out.
Thanks for reading. I know how busy you are.