There is no doubt about it, being a writer is like getting naked in public. It never used to really sink in before I published books, and when no one read my writing or listened to me when I talked. Suddenly, I am being read… and even… frighteningly, being believed.
I now have 678 followers, a number of whom actually read and comment on my posts. I do my best to entertain and make them laugh, but it is the nature of real writing that the contents of my life as a whole spill out for all to see. I try to keep private things private, but it is becoming more and more obvious that I need a much bigger purple teddy bear. Readers of my blog know that I was a public school teacher for thirty-one years. They also know that I did not want to leave that job, but I have six incurable diseases and am a cancer survivor, and my health let me down. They may also know that I was the victim of a sexual predator when I was a child and recovery has taken a lifetime… in fact, it is still going on. They may know that my family life has become difficult because health issues affect an entire family, especially when the costs of care are turned into gigantic scary monsters by an increasingly greedy and corrupt health-care industry (not doctors and nurses. mind you, but the higher-ups who really make all the money off drugs, tech, and insurance.) There are no longer skeletons in my closet. All my darkest secrets become fuel for writing and bubble out of my cauldron, transforming into butterflies, who may have started as worms, but have worked themselves into filigreed winged creatures that flit about in the sunlight. I turned one of my most horrible experiences into a post for https://www.facebook.com/groups/1000Speak/. It was the story of Ruben Vela, and it was about my inability to prevent a tragedy. Here is the link; When Compassion Fails. Gobs of sobs from readers in the comment section. I usually try to make them laugh… but crying is a part of the reading game too.
And where are the Trolls? I see them on the internet everywhere. I know other bloggers who have cut off comments because of Trolls. They don’t seem to come around me with their leg-breaking, gut-busting insults and four-letter-wordy mayhem. Do I not deserve that as much as anybody else? But I know better than to actually wish for what I don’t really want. It is okay, Trolls, if you decide you’d rather apply the soul-crushing efforts elsewhere.
The point is, while I have always wanted to be a writer and have some experience with naturists and nudists, I have never before now had to come to terms with dancing naked in the sunlight in front of God and everybody… but continuing to write means dealing with it now.
Catch a Falling Star 