- On May 1, 2024, I began writing my story. And you know one of my problems with it?
Not that I tell my age in the story, but having my father enlist in WWII rather gives me away.
When someone asked my mother-in-law her age, she responded, "I'll forgive you for asking that personal question."
I have followed in her footsteps.
I'm not ashamed of my age. I am, in fact, proud of it. I just don't want to be judged by it. When I told my Naturopath how old I am, she gave me a Palliative page to fill out so the hospital would know what to do with me if I came in unconscious.
See what I mean?
- Okay, besides having the nerve to allow my age to be known, I decided that after accumulating a life of observations, teachings, and study, those learnings shouldn't be locked up in a trunk and buried 150 feet down. They are to be shared. Something I say will make a difference in a reader's life.
Imagine strips of paper upon which you have written your insights. You throw them into the wind. Other people, like children, arms outstretched, running through their first snow flurry, instead of catching snowflakes on their tongues, catch those paper strips. If they like what's written there, they keep the scrap. If not,they throw it back into the wind to be picked up by someone else.
My strips will contain my life plus plain talk about magical things. (I use the word magic metaphysically.) I know physics is at work. I also understand that something divine is swirling around us. Although I was motivated to write a memoir, I wanted it to be about something other than me. I want to encourage self-growth and writing as a healing device.
I encourage people to write their own stories because their life is important.
(I'm not talking about the "Ain't it awful story. " Rather, I'm saying, "I stand as One, but I have 10,000 behind me." story. )
- My manuscript, soon to be a book, has not been professionally edited. And on a keyboard, I'm accident-prone with tunnel vision. (Metaphorically).
Yesterday, however, I read that beta readers might give it a shot and tell me if I'm blowing smoke. Volunteers are happily accepted.
- This morning, I was inspired by Elizabeth Gilbert (Eat, Pray, Love) when I read her responses to age questions. She has decided to honor her age. She recently buzzed her hair and doesn't fuss with her face because she's tired of all that. If men can get by with it, she figured, women can. (She's cute all bare faced and hairless.)
- I apologize to all who checked into my Substack site. While I dinked with it, I didn't know if it was going out to subscribers. I'm trying to master this site before those throngs of subscribers come bursting in. I'll embarrass myself to a few, sorry if it's you.I was having trouble with my images.
I have gone back to Joyce Davis Substack when I saw many Jo's Substacks there are. But then there are many Joyce Davis, too.
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- This week, I've been grieving over a lost love—a house we built, and I designed, and General contracted. It's been sold for a time, and that's fine; it's the new owner's house, but it was my baby. When I saw the clear-cut of our once forested property and the renovation/remodel, I felt he had not only ripped the forest but also the heart out of the house. The logs needed to be tended, though; that's great. It's the interior I'm suffering with. The property will go on sale next month.