I can honestly say I'm a little, not disappointed exactly but exasperated maybe with myself. I really cannot believe that it's taken me until I'm in my thirties to get actually serious about writing.
I've been writing since I was a child. I wrote my first spontaneous not school assigned poem when I was eight or nine, my first outside of school publication when i was 17. It was a poem entitled something like "Lit High" or something like that. I do remember that it was a part of this series I wrote trying to get across my own literary high using junkie terms.
I used a terrible pseudonym because my seriousness about writing was a secret. Lots of people knew I wrote but not how serious of a thing it was for me.
Fast forward over a decade and here I am.
I am now a blogger, a fat blogger, a sex blogger, a personal blogger, etc. I still write my stories, I am only now being at all serious about trying to get published. I have been published off and on for a decade but, I always got scared.
Up until just a couple of years ago I didn't believe that I had what's known as a voice. I knew I had things to say but I wasn't at all sure anyone wanted to hear it the way I tell it.
I realized at some point that yes, a lot of the time I like to express things in twisted strange ways. I like to write violent sexy stories, I like to write about things that make other people squirm. And that is just fine.
Perhaps, age has finally lent me some grace.
What age and experience has lent me finally is acceptance.
I have accepted and embraced most of the foibles of my body. Sometimes I still get angry because my joints don't function in a way I find pleasing all the time, or because my back ties itself in knots that make it hard to sleep.
I accepted finally that only via dangerous and unhealthy behavior is it possible for my body to fit into the stereotypes of what health looks like and that I don't have to do that.
I feel more at home in my skin even when I look back at some of my youth inspired tom foolery. Drug use, sex work, stupid things, insane dyke dramalicious break ups. A lot of people I knew and loved did not make it this far. Some of them are dead from AIDS, some drugs, others prison, murder etc. Even through the tint of sadness I can be proud that I've made it this far. There have been many times in my life where I really did not believe I would live to see thirty much less pass it.
Now that I've had that long look over my shoulder what's ahead?
The fucking fantastic thing is I don't know.
Recently I've gotten two fantastic really exciting sex writing opportunities. One I just finished up yesterday and the other should be coming down the pipe in a couple of weeks.
I have decided to get cracking on making some art of myself and whatnot.
I might get naked on the internet.
I might go balls out insane.
I just don't know and it's delicious.
It's wonderful to be looking forward and seeing a life that I have no idea where it's leading.
I think that's about all. I need to get started on super fucking awesome project number2.
Also I have some linked pages to create. A proper about me page, a links page, uh any other suggestions?
And oh yes, my Virgin homie I have not forsaken you my darling. I am thinking over your letter and will answer probably Monday or Tuesday.
Also some new photos finally. Outfits, crafts, maybe my fuzzy shin and the new scar on my left knee.
I love you homies and haters.