Confession Tuesday - the Remix

Dear Reader,

I wanted to respond to an odd occurrence that happened a couple weeks ago.  You may have seen it, or missed it.  Many of you emailed me with different theories and also kind words, if you missed it, it was from my Art of the Blurb post.

Nothing big, but interesting and definitely something I want to respond to--so let's begin.

To the confessional--

I confess I didn't mean to annoy Famous Poet's wife by writing my experience with blurbs.  (Notice how I say Famous Poet and not his name so there is no Google alert sent out; if she's reading this now it's all on her own.)

And I confess I was surprised when she left a comment saying my post was "unkind."

What I have always promised myself with this blog is that I would tell/share/write my experience as a writer in the writing world.  Good, bad, and ugly.  Though I didn't feel what I shared was bad or ugly or even unkind, just my experience.

As a young poet, I remember other poets pretending life was a full dance-card and a series of acceptances.  I remember how names dropped from open mouths and how I felt there was a combination lock code into this world of wine and words and everything good.

Everything is not always good.  And there is not always wine or words served.   Sometimes there's just you--the writer, the poet--and a lot of white pages.

So, when I wrote that post about blurbs, I wanted to be honest.

Had I not mentioned that I did not receive a response from Famous Poet A and making it seem as if all my blurb requests came through wrapped in silk handkerchiefs, you might believe there is a rainbow and a pot of gold in my lap.  You might believe things are always easy and I am smart and perfect and have good skin.

Let's get to the details--

I confess while I am educated and consider myself a smart person, I do not always make the smartest decisions when it comes to following up.  Or when it comes to chocolate, I usually overindulge.

I confess I am also perfectly imperfect.  Though I do have nice eyes or arms, depending on where you are looking or what you like.  But I can be messy and controlling, too laid back or too loud, too active or too lazy depending on the day.  I also am always bruised and scratched up from mountain biking.  I say one thing, then change my mind, then change it back.  And so on...

I confess while I had a 50% chance of gorgeous French olive skin, I am part of the freckled Irish tribe, and more and more as I age.

I confess while I have chased many leprechauns and rainbows, I have never been given a pot of gold, though I know a few poets of gold.


~

So you can expect this if you come here:  I will do my best to share my experience on writing and trying to live a creative existence, through my perspective, to the best of my ability.

I confess, I will not always please everyone.

And to be honest, I really don't want to (read:  I have a deep belief if you are pleasing everyone you are not living authentically, but have somehow put on someone else's pants...)

But not pleasing everyone-- this life and our jobs as writers and poets and artists.  Yes, if we are pleasing everyone, we may be Wonderbread, we may wearing the wrong clothes, or clothes that do not fit us well, but we wear them because they represent who we think we should be, not who we are.

And for those who sent me emails with kind words, no worries, it surprised me, but didn't break my spirit, heart, or head.  But thank you.

Life is too short for drama and bad wine.  Especially bad wine.

Amen.

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