These autobiographical statements are ridiculously hard to write. Am I supposed to try to sell myself to you, try to make you like me? Tell you something that might shed light on a possible connection between us, so you’ll keep reading? Talk about my hopes and dreams and fears, or just throw out the most basic information: a map of my life sketched out on a napkin, with only the major streets labeled? I don’t know.
That probably told you more than enough, didn’t it?
I live in North Carolina with my husband and kids, in a pretty little spot way out in the country. If you stick around long enough, go back through the old stuff, you might get an idea of where I’ve been and where I am now. I have no idea where I’m going.
Sometimes I write with a purpose, if I’m angry about something, fed up with people being cruel to each other, upset with the ugliness in the world. And sometimes I just have a little something running through my head that I want to hang onto a little longer. All of it ends up here, and now here you are too.
I hate lima beans and love the sun.
Is that enough?
Questions? Ask. Comments? Bring them on. Criticism? Be gentle, please.
Have a beautiful day.