Reading was sometimes a struggle. Writing never was. Ever since first grade, when I proudly deciphered the word "funny" in my "Dick and Jane" reader and printed said word all over a large white sheet of paper, I've been hooked. My first real success came a few years later when the teacher displayed one of my stories for Open House. It recounted an unfortunate incident involving my mom, a huge bowl of freshly brewed jello, a partially open fridge door and a linoleum floor. I was eight and it was funny. The teacher was impressed. My mother wasn't.
In high school, I encountered my first "stickler". She was quite a wonderful English teacher to whom I am indebted to this day. We flogged grammatical rules and parsed sentences ad infinitum. I'm fairly confident that this repetitive activity led to my affinity for the book, "Eats, Shoots and Leaves."
Although I never had a huge interest in penning the next great American novel (or Canuk novel as it were), I often wrote for enjoyment during the early morning hours when my world as a single mom was most peaceful. I saw myself as a bit of an Erma (that's Bombeck not La Douce) and so I began to slog, or should I say blog about daily events that struck me as odd, annoying or amusing. There were many.
It has sometimes occurred to me to offer my services to the local newspaper as a "proof reader". Unfortunately, prerequisites are rigid. Accuracy in spelling, grammar and punctuation are not necessary. A degree in journalism is.
So here I sit in the hopes of gaining some insight about where I might fit into the literary world. As I try to find "my voice" I will write about what I know best...my thoughts on everyday life, my experiences, my gripes and my history.