A Magical Ride

It’s hard to believe now that when I was 18 that I imagined life as a “writer” as a magical ride to publishing house parties.  Nobody did much to dispel my fantasies (except for Tony Kushner who talked to my class after finding success with “Angels In America” and having a breakdown…he said, “never get famous”….so I figured he was playing it cool). Famous writers kill lions in the jungle and get drunk with charming attractive people.  I never dug Ernest Hemingway, but apparently his brand of Kool-Aid must have seeped into my consciousness somewhere because I believed that self-destruction made for superior living, if you can pull off condescension and still sound deep.  The rest is the story of any meeting of a teenager’s illusions with reality.  No slow clap. Just the sound of a pin popping a giant bubble made out of Bazooka Joe gum and filled with hope and F. Scott Fitzgerald novels. (*blush* at my taste in writers…I did not take enough women’s studies classes).

So my blog is almost ten years old and here is where I have publicly embarrassed myself in a couple thousand posts about the most boring life imaginable.   Honestly, though, despite the fact that this blog has maybe earned me $20 it’s probably been the most fun writing non-job I’ve ever had.
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Just for today, it’s been a magical ride.