I’ve been struggling for a while now to figure out what to blog about. I’m told that as a writer who is trying to make a name for myself, a living out of this, I needed to have a blog. Several people told me to write a stream-of-consciousness blog, and I’ve always felt that wasn’t me. No one wants to listen to my rants on the restaurant business, how at 41 I’m bartending and managing full-time again, and my eye has been twitching for six days. I needed a topic, an assignment, like wine, or coffee, or cats, something I can focus on. So, on I dwelled, my days filled with wine, coffee, and cats, and today, on Day Six of eye twitching, I decided to give it go. I’ve already hauled ass to the bank to deposit cash the moment the bank opened, since I’m broke as all hell, and I’ve already yelled at another driver. Oh yeah, I have mildly controlled road-rage. I won’t cut you off or do something dangerous but having learned to drive on the backroads of Virginia AND in Brooklyn, NY, I have a zero patience for your terrible abilities behind the wheel. You’ll know its me when you fail to use your blinker (Maryland, I’m looking at you), or three-point turn on the main drag in my neighborhood.
It’s taken several years, and several personal tragedies to concentrate on me and my writing. When you’re the kind of person that puts yourself dead-last in life, dreams and goals don’t get realized. Then one day, when enough strife has zeroed in and torpedoed your sanity into oblivion, you finally start to hear the ideas again. The ideas you used to write down on pieces of paper, napkins, every random journal you find. They’re flying around like in the chamber of winged keys in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. My book, the first in a (hopeful) series, is the broken key, sputtering around, waiting for me to notice it. I’ve started taking a few classes online, my favorite one promises to unlock writer’s block, called Writerrific! So far, so good, wouldn’t be writing here without it. Amazing what a few suggestions, so far, to just declutter my brain and environment can do. I look forward to opening my laptop, to pick up my notebook and pen, and not be scared by it. I guess I’ve no choice but to give this the old college try, which would mean I’d be drowning in cheap beer and vodka cranberries before long, except I’m older and more mature now.
Screw-top bottle of red, you’re mine.