I’m a Writer. Right?

My new boyfriend Jerome took me to dinner last night.  Okay, he’s not my boyfriend.  And his name’s not Jerome.  But I’m a writer, right?  I can make that shit up.

Okay, so the guy who lives downstairs, whose middle name is Jerome, took me out for HIS birthday dinner, along with a “friend” of his named… um… Dawn.  At least she looked like a Dawn to me, with her big blue eyes and black long hair and perfect little nose.  Fifty-one, and not a wrinkle on her beautiful face, her skin literally glowing with some sort of age-defying lotion – she’s got it goin’ on, one way or another.

Jerome and Dawn met on an online dating site with a stinky name (something about fish).  Not my scene, but that’s why there’s chocolate and vanilla.  On the way to the restaurant, a little bistro in the West End, Jerome told me that within ten minutes of meeting her for the first time, he knew he and Dawn weren’t meant to be.  When I asked him what his first clue was, he said, “She said I wasn’t ready.” Well, that would be a clue.  Since Jerome’s just a couple months ahead of me on the singles scene, and I’m just a couple months into it, Dawn was spot on.  Way to go, Dawn.

Even so, they’ve managed to become sparring partners, and so I found myself spending this warm summer evening sitting on an outdoor patio near English Bay with the two of them.  As strangers thrown into these situations often do with each other, Dawn asked me what I do.  And without thinking about it, I said, “I’m a writer.”  It may be the first time I’ve said that out loud, so forgive me if I wasn’t prepared for the (what now seems inevitable) follow up question, “And what do you write?”

What could I say?  This is exactly what I’m finding out right now, right here, even as my fingers move across the keyboard.  What I write is exactly what comes out of my head onto this page.  Are these words making the world any better?  No, not at the moment.  Are they making anyone think deep thoughts?  Highly doubtful.  But if they’re helping me in this journey of exploration, then maybe that’s a good thing.  And if what I’ve heard from other writers who’ve come before me is true, the answers (and maybe if I’m lucky, maybe even the questions) will reveal themselves in time.

I started thinking about all of this earlier today, when I was over at the home of my close friends, Bert and Ernie.   (Oh, you may think, those aren’t their real names, and you would be right.  But can’t you just picture their cute little yellow and orange faces?) I’d just dropped by for some company, which they graciously shared with me for a short while before going back to whatever they were doing before I got there.  We’ve been friends for long enough that this is par for the course, and I was more than happy to just do my own thing in their cool house.  Far better than doing my own thing in my stinkin’ hot apartment on this stinkin’-hot-and-thank-the-lord-it-is day.

I thought I might start this entry right then and there, until I realized I had absolutely no idea what the URL of my blog is. My own blog.  Sad but true.  So I searched WordPress for One Eyed Queen.  I couldn’t find myself (this is really beginning to sound like a strong case for returning to therapy), but in my search, I came across something much better, a blog called Secrets of the Universe Revealed, the funniest thing I’ve read in a long time.

Now THIS woman’s a writer.  Her words are laugh-out-loud funny and real and honest and just so damned good.  And I can see that there’s lots more of this kind of stuff out there in the blogosphere, so I can see I just need to start reading more, and then maybe, just maybe, I’ll find my way to saying I’m a writer and feeling like it’s true.

Any minute now.  We’re just warmin’ up, folks.  Stand by.

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2 thoughts on “I’m a Writer. Right?

  1. Listening to WWOZ helps fuel the creative juices. It’s out of New Orleans, dj’s are intelligent volunteers, and is truly the best radio station in the world. Best in the universe. All music. At the moment we’re hearing early Elvis. Earlier tonight was a buffet of Sonny Rollins, Otis Redding, a seriously wonderful honky tonk piano player, Mahalia Jackson, and John Cage. John Cage the modern composer?? Yep.

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