Just playing with themes and words. Bear with me…
Ok, so I’m old. I have no idea how to blog and no idea how to publish this to my site or a friggin thing about this, but here goes. I must also admit that blogging (like diaries) scares me because I’m afraid of two things. One is that since I’m a writer, people will expect my brain doodles to be fabulous and at the very least grammatical– I’m a professor after all, (but please remember I’m a revisionist); and two that I’ll somehow use up all my creative juices on something trivial that doesn’t matter (though I know intellectually that it may instead get those ideas flowing). But the older you get, the more you fret that there is a finite supply of brilliance and that you may, in fact, be nearing your quota due to shrinking gray matter. Referring back to fear number one, my childhood diaries consisted of five sentence entries on the order of : “Jim walked right past me on the way to my locker today and never even looked up, though he did sit behind me in Mrs. Lee’s class.” (Or was it that other English teacher that tried to make me read my Hemingway piece in front of him that time which caused me to leave the room.) But you get the idea. Never anything inspired, especially since I had that five year diary (not a one year) and limited space, although I do now have a permanent record of what I did every day for those five years.
Oh, I take that back. The diary started in 1969 and I made it only part way into 1973. Entry March 6, 1972: “Went to Randy’s. Talked to Glen a whole lot… Randy asked me to go with him but didn’t.” Then on March 13th (my birthday) this entry: “Went to drive-in with Glen. He gave me ‘Jesus Christ Superstar.’ I love him, unfortunately.” So nearly every entry consists of the logistics of my life with whatever boy called me that day amidst very confusing subtext about how I must have felt about them all. And why.
This all to preface the fact that I have no idea how to blog. And I refuse to impose lyrical standards upon myself that will then make this as demanding as writing is. So will start in spirit of five-year diary: It was 93 degrees today here on my spot off the grid. I live 18 miles northwest of Newberry, Michigan on 35 acres and a blue ribbon trout stream. Hot or not, it doesn’t get much better than that. I will no longer have as many boyfriends to report on, but I do have my 30 year old son Josh (who has Down Syndrome) and he hangs with me daily.
Good to have a new perspective.
Enough for today. Except to say that Northern Michigan University’s enrollment is down and I lost my class for the Fall. This is the university where I am (was) an Assistant Contingent Professor. This will give me the time I need to write (and fish, by God). (I’m presently working on a woodfire cookbook and memoir, something I’m thinking of calling The Woodfire Diaries: Essays on Food and Similar Fallacies. Not quite it yet, but something like that)…
It will also give me time to work with Wayne State University on the production of my second novel-in-stories called Seasonal Roads to be released in April or May 2016.
I’m not certain, either, if I should address you personally as some kind of imaginary reader or just babble on. It seems poor manners not to acknowledge your existence, so I’ll end by wishing you a glorious day. No such thing as a bad day according to The Fat Man, one of our local D.J.’s. Am inclined to agree.