Coming here was the best decision that I ever made. The house is welcoming, the cats have settled in nicely, and I have a place to write. That is very important – having a place to write. Yes, in one way or another I have always written. I kept personal journals, was secretary (by default, usually) for the childhood groups that I belonged to, and secretary for the groups that I belonged to as an adult. One of my fondest memories is writing up the meeting notes when I was a Camp Fire Girl, and walking them down to the local newspaper, which published them. (This was in a very small town.)
I worked in clinical laboratories as an adult, and found myself writing test procedures. That was just as satisfying as any other writing to me. As long as I was writing I was happy. It is starteling to look back, and to recognize that each part of my writing life reflected the part of life I was in at that time. It was telling my story, my personal story. As a child, I was very introverted. Any writing that I did allowed me to show my face to the world, to participate without really having to participate.
As my life expanded, my writing expanded. In high school, I loved the writing assignments. In college, I loved writing about what we were studying, taking writing apart to see what made it tick, and putting it back together again. But my need to make a living got in the way. My focus turned from writing to running lab tests. Even then, though, I liked reading all of the material that the pharmaceutical companies sent us, writing procedures, and putting together lab manuals – the “rules and regs” for the labs that I ran. My formal “face” at that time was a scientific one – people knew me through my work. I validated who I was by understanding my work well. The psychology journals fell by the wayside, and lab journals took their place. For that period of time, this was who I was.
But then I changed. Well, I allowed myself to express another part of me. I had always studied metaphysics as an avocation, so I made the choice to segue into it as a vocation. Now I was writing about all kinds of things, doing blogs on the Internet, and sending out a monthy newsletter. All of that fell by the wayside. I kept metaphysics as a vocation, but dropped the blogs and newsletter.
Now I started doing book and deck reviews – first for a friend’s newsletter, then for a leading Internet review site. I was very happy doing this – and amassed a ton of books and decks! But that got old, and I slowed the reviews down to only the things I was really interested in.
I had moved to another state during that time, and was really not happy there. I won’t go into the reasons – they are boring. I stayed there as long as I did for many reasons, but I was finally able to cut those ties and move here. While I do have roots here – and yes, I do intend to stay – my decision has been to honor my need to be a loner. That perhaps is my true face – that of a loner. Am I comfortable in how I see myself? Yes. Does my writing reflect that? Yes.
So where do I go from here. Can I support myself with my writing? Do I dare venture into genres that I know little about? I am going to take a gamble and say yes. How is that going to play out?
Ending Number One:
I am going to write a screenplay about my time in Atlantic City. I am going to paint the true picture of what goes on there, about who owns who, and why things are done the way they are. The surface of any big city shows ony what some people want you to see. I can tell you about going down the rabbit hole, about losing yourself in an environment that is so foreign that no one really understands it. An environment that supports whatever brings in the money, whatever makes the biggest splash. Where the best thing to do is to fly under everyone’s radar. Keep a smile on your face, and keep on walking.
There are doors that you do not want to open, and lines that you don’t want to cross. Big Jim found that out the hard way. I won’t write about him, though. He was basically a good person who got caught up in evil things. Now the Kelsey twins – I will write about them! Their story is a never ending saga of greed and corruption, hidden under expensive home, expensive cars, expensive cloths, and a gigantic black hole where morality should be.
My face here is that of the narrator – the one who tells the story. My story remains hidden.
Ending Number Two:
I am going to write a series of books reflecting life the way I wouldlike it to be. Where the people are not morally bankrupt, where life means something, and where small town america thrives, even in the big cities. Each person has a story to tell, a story that is intimately entwined in the stories of those around them. There is a beginning, middle, and end – and it all makes sense.
The people next door are the people next door, and not terroritst, drug dealers, or participants in a witness protection program. Neighbors are there for neighbors, and people do the right thing. Their stories reflect life as it is – the good and the bad. People trying to reflect solid values into their lives, people happy to be who they are.
My face here is one of the people next door – a neighbor reflecting solid values, happy with who they are, living in the present, and wiling to question that which seems to be a bit off.
(c) July 2019 Bonnie Cehovet
Reproduction prohibited without written permission of the author.
Flash Fiction 