Tuesday, June 27, 2017

okay okay okay

I thought I would be a doctor, a nurse, a lifeguard, an actress or at the very least working in a magazine like Andi Anderson (How to lose a guy in 10 Days). I never thought I would be a writer. I'm not really a writer but part of me says if you write you are a writer and that's just the way it works.
The younger version of me wrote "mystery" novels in my closet. I say mystery loosely because I would write them as scary as I could possible imagine and always end on a joke. It would be a Scooby doo like mystery where a raptor like monster terrorized a group of character's I made up. There would be twists! There would be turns! There would be terror! But always ending on a character loosely mentioned at the beginning of the story revealing him/herself at the end; He or She would apologize profusely and everyone in the story would think it was HILARIOUS.
As a little closet club house girl, mystery novels(with a jokey end) were my jam.  
My mother told me I was going to be a writer; my grandmother told me I was going to be an actress; (based on writing plays and performing plays for hours and hours at her trailer house every summer) My Father is a doctor but writes "like a motherfucker".

But most of the time I'm still writing in my cave closet trying to make my terrifying raptor man funny.