One Whipped Mother

I Love Writers!

I wrote much of this post last week, but felt too embarrassed by its sappiness, no matter how heartfelt, to publish it. Then I received notice a couple of days ago that another one of my good blog friends had decided to end his blog, and thought to myself, To hell with appearing sappy.

Please don’t think me overly eccentric, or heaven forbid, loony as a fruit bat in heat, but I am the kinder, gentler Ted Kaczynski of suburbia. I am and always have been a loner. I’m such a loner, it’s a major event in my neighborhood if I step foot on my front porch and nod a hello to the dude and his wife across the street.-- I much prefer the backyard where I can enjoy myself in peace, watch nature, play with my kids, cook the occasional batch of meth, without the obligation of being “neighborly.” And it’s not because I don’t like people, per se, but more of a wariness on my part. I’m sure my life experience differs from many - many normal people, that is -- in that human beings scare the shit out of me. Much of my fiction has the underlying theme of deception, monsters made of denim and L’Oreal cosmetics who drive mini vans and attend PTA meetings, crunch numbers, shop at Sears, wish you harm even as they embrace you.

To me, there is nothing more terrifying than what lies beneath the smiling masks, whether it be the serial killer who appears to be a model citizen, or the mother who bakes her kids cookies one day, murders them the next, or even just someone who gains trust and affection from an unwitting mark, then twists it all up into a dagger of cold betrayal and stabs that mark in the back. Repeatedly.

One can never be sure what lies beneath, and I guess my experiences have taught me that there are very few deserving of my trust and affection. I hate to get all Nietzsche on your ass, but although I have great compassion for the human race, I believe the majority is composed of beguiling monsters, some big, some little, but no matter how benign, they thrive on deception. Which is why I love the written word so much. My writings allow me to express myself truthfully, without the fumbling inarticulateness that inevitably spills from my mouth -- I do not, unfortunately, possess the skill of eloquent speaking, and that alarms me at times. I am often misunderstood, seen as patronizing or sarcastic when I am in fact trying to be consoling or humorous; I fear that I come across as one of those deceptive monsters instead of the loving, oftentimes ditzy soul I really am. There are good reasons why this is so, why I am unable to connect with others face to face as much as I’d like. But that’s not up for discussion today.

The written word comes from inside, deep inside, without the fears and self-doubts that would otherwise stilt and distort my true intent. And those of you who write well, and honestly, have gained my trust and affection, deluded as that might seem, because I feel, right or wrong, that you, too, find comfort and release by way of text instead of flapping gums.

It may be naïve of me, but when I read certain blogs on a regular basis, I feel as if I’m seeing what lies beneath, and what I see does not frighten me in the least. I feel many of you are kindred spirits, would be someone I’d be honored to have dinner with or sit outside on a hot summer day (backyard, please) and sip cocktails, laugh, discuss the world. I’m a loner, but I really don’t want to be. And that’s why I love and appreciate you guys, and that’s why I miss you if you go away.

I’ve had to say goodbye to quite a few favorite blogs over the past six months or so, blogs that I’ve had on my blogroll pretty much from the get-go, and that makes me sad. Like, really, really sad. The authors of those now defunct blogs are exceptional writers, humorists, wise wonderers of the human condition; they’re folks who went well with my morning coffee or evening 18 pack, folks who, although we’ve never met, are/were more than passing acquaintances more than delightful words splashed across the page for my amusement -- they truly were my friends.

So, in case you’re wondering, this rambling bit of poo-poo does have a purpose: I want to say to Jas, Peter, Tom, Jeni, Greg, Joshie, and Gary...Thank you, I miss you, and should you decide to blog again, please don’t hesitate to let me know the moment you're live.

To fill the empty spaces on my blogroll, I’ve found a few blogs that thrill the hell out of me, and though some of the authors don’t know me from Adam (but who does know Adam, really?), and probably are unaware that I read them, I’m feeling them just the same. If you haven’t yet checked out Living in a Dream, Yeah…I Said it , Suburban Bliss, One Girl and Her Cats, Diary of a New York Lady, and Jordan E. Rosenfeld over on my blogroll, I hope you’ll do so sometime soon. Enjoy!

posted by Ms. Lori @ 9:59 AM