The Keychain

I've been thinking a lot about a keychain I once owned. That dirty white heart declaring, "My Life Is A Soap Opera!" will pop into my head at the oddest times. Mom bought it for me back in the early 80's. I kept it on my key ring until it fell apart. I kept it even when I didn't believe my life was a soap opera. I'd catch it's message while opening the door and think, "I'm trying to be special."

Now I'm doing it again. :)

RR began as an attempt to tell some amusing stories. It grew into a novel (or series of essays long enough to be a novel), and developed a purpose. To show the middle class what urban life can look like. I've hit a point that I don't really want to write about. I don't want to write about growing up. I don't want to share about discovering witchcraft, and my teen years were all about witchcraft. Not writing that feels like I'm only telling half the story, and keeping the juiciest bits to myself to boot. Adding witchcraft to the novel completely changes the direction and purpose of my tales. It drifts into the world of subjective fantasy. I would loose my audience.
Oh, I have a few stories about my teen years that would fit. I can (and will) write about sneaking out, lighting peoples butts on fire, stupid drinking incidents and ways I broadened my horizons with Rocky Horror, or meeting the male prostitutes who worked Tower Grove Park.

I find that now that I'm nearing the end of the book, I don't want to give it up. I don't want to stop writing, and I certainly don't want to put my baby in the hands of an editor. (sigh)

That's why I haven't been blogging recently. I've been busy procrastinating.