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Warning…randomness ahead.

 

Since I re-started writing about nine years ago, it’s been a source of pride and satisfaction. I write for the love of it, and not for any other reason. Lately I’ve been experiencing a measure of success. My family was able to take our first vacation in five years last year, and this summer, we’re looking at finally being able to replace the windows and doors on our house. Based on looks, they’re original to the house, which was built in 1977. We live on water, so the entire backside of the house is either a window or a sliding door. It’s gorgeous, but prohibitively expensive to replace using a company–and darn cold in the winter. Thankfully Wife can build, install, or fix anything in/around the house. Still—windows and sliding doors cost money.

The photo is the view out of one of four sliding doors. In the distance, you can see our snow-covered fire pit that Wife built last summer when she tripled the size of our beach. Thank goodness we found this house on a clearance sale.

The photo is the view out of one of four sliding doors. In the distance, you can see our snow-covered fire pit that Wife built last summer when she tripled the size of our beach. Thank goodness we found this house on a clearance sale.

As great as that is, I’ve never thought of myself as an Author with a capital A. I’m a writer, one of the millions of people driven to put words on paper, not one of those Authors who drive people to have fan moments.

That’s why I was shocked recently when a friend I’ve known since middle school told me that she doesn’t email me often because she feels like she needs to check over her grammar and spelling 100 times due to my Author status. My first reaction (after shock) was that I spend my days reading things written by 10-14 year-olds. I look for meaning, not necessarily spelling, and I only look at grammar if the meaning is obscured. This fear—despite my assurances to the contrary–stops her from sending me a quick text or email, and that makes me sad.

As you’re no doubt aware, Prince died on April 21, 2016. This friend, whose name is ironically, Love, introduced me to Prince. She’s the superfan you often read about, constantly listening to him, thinking about him, or talking about him. My love for him is inextricably linked to my friendship with her. When I heard he died, I wanted to call her (but I was teaching 2nd hour). I sent a text and email during passing time, but it took her a long time to respond—and her writing was flawless. That made me even sadder.

12938342_10209117629719941_1284887546926593190_nNext October, I’m going to be at the Midwestern Book Lovers Unite. I don’t expect to have lines at my table or anything like that. I’ll be honored and pleased if anyone stops by. I write for the Love of it, and I only want people to enjoy my stories. Other than that, I’m just an introvert who is shy but friendly. If our paths happen to cross, don’t think I’m judging you. That’s just an introverted personality combined with terrified shyness and Resting Bitch Face. Inside, I’m just happy to see you.

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