An Introduction to the Author

Who am I?  That is always such a difficult question to answer.  How can a person be summed up in a few pretty words?  This task is especially difficult for me, believe it or not.  I may seem vivacious and outgoing, but that is only one facet.  I don't generally like opening myself to people-- especially strangers.  I don't like feeling vulnerable.  At this point, I have already rewritten this blog entry three times, my nerves jangling as I try to shape an image of myself out of words.  As introverted as I am, however, I am also stubborn.  I won't take the easy way out.  I won't bore you with a string of bland facts, such as where I was born or what I do for a living.  Those things are largely unimportant.  Instead, let me attempt to actually show you a little part of who I am.

I can be described as many things-- creative, temperamental, clumsy, intelligent-- but normal is not one of them.  I was uncool long before it was cool to be uncool.  I am capricious and a little unpredictable; if a parking space doesn't feel right, I move the car.  If I happen to feel like wearing a ladies' hat and gloves, I do so.  My musical tastes range from symphonic metal to jazz to Celtic, and my clothing varies between Gothic glamor, artistic class, and bohemian comfort.  I am far more concerned with personal style than with fashion.  I choose to be pale in a world that tans.  I don't like political parties because I prefer to research options and think for myself.  I love art, folklore, coffee, cats, books and antiques.  I hate crowds, traffic, coolots, dance clubs and shallow personalities.  I will give anyone a first chance, but only a few a second.  I strive to be myself, and rarely see any point in attempting to curb my uniqueness.

 I have three ambitions in my life: become a successful writer and editor, live comfortably and happily in an historic town somewhere, and become a crazy cat lady.  I want to enjoy my work and live well.  I want to eventually become that colorful old lady who sits on her porch wearing a flamboyant bathrobe, drinking a martini, smoking a cigarillo, and reading James Joyce to her many cats.  I want to be the eccentric but lovable old bat who throws glitzy parties, teaches neighborhood children swear words, and never stops living until the day I die.  If I can do all that, I can die without regrets.

That, I fear, is the best introduction I can give myself.  It's a half-finished portrait at best, but I believe I have tormented readers enough.  I know I have endured social discomfort as long as I can.  So I will wrap up this little, imperfect image of a part of my spirit and leave it for any who wanders here to find.  I will tell myself that there is no more room for editing and rewriting.  I won't let myself erase another word.  It's perhaps one of the braver things I've done in a while.