Don’t Go Telling Stories
An Exploration Of What The Hell I Am Doing Here
Since posting my two pieces on Medium, I’ve had a few folks ask about my style of writing, wondering if my goal is to write as a career. I have been advised that I need a social media presence with my pen name.
I have also been asked if I have a book waiting to be written. One person suggested that I should develop a clear vision for a blog. While going for a walk today a friend described me as an essayist, another commented she has always liked memoirs. I am not sure where my writing falls.
The answer to the questions of purpose and vision? I don’t really know. I have been described as a “deep well”, a “story-teller”, “different”, and “unique” all dripping with a hint of admiration and yet also judgement. I suppose the truth lies among the mess.
If you have read my first two pieces, you can tell that my style teeters on the cusp of sentimentality and self-indulgence, which I am afraid will continue as I have softened with age and incessantly grab at lessons pushed aside while accomplishing goals.
I am also a teller of stories, as many in my culture are, but I am not naturally a teller of fiction; my life is filled with so many meaningful stories that I do not feel the need to make them up.
