How I Am Made.
I guess I was made to share, made to entertain.
A Stack of comic books.
When I was in elementary school, I owned a stack of comic books. In my bedroom, I had a good-sized double closet with sliding doors, one on each side of the closet expanse. On the floor, on the left-hand side, was my stack of comic books. It had become a tradition in my family, that whenever we were going to travel somewhere by car, say, on vacation, or for a Sunday drive, we would travel to our nearest corner newsstand, and my dad would purchase for me and my sister a few comic books to read during the drive. My sister would pick out a couple of comics she wanted pretty quickly. I, on the other hand, tended to labor more over my choice, because my choices needed to reflect what I wanted to read, but almost as important, I wanted them to be the ones my friends enjoyed. sometimes, my buddies would come over to my house after school, and they seemed to enjoy digging into my stack of comics. ultimately I enjoyed my friends being happy.
Record albums.
As my life went on, and my tastes changed to music, it was still much the same. Many times, my choice of record album purchases (I made(my dad was no longer paying.)were equally based on my friends’ tastes as on my own. Eventually, I had amassed quite a collection of those, too. One day, I recall in particular, I remember being stumped between an l .p. I liked, and one one my friends liked. I didn’t have the money for both. I finally came to the very youthful idea that I might be trying to buy their friendship. I came to the conclusion that they should like me for my existing collection. I do remember thinking at the time, that my good friends should like me for just what I am. The thought set me free. now, once again, I find myself trying to alter my behavior(writing subject and style) based on what some of my readers have suggested. Now, I have just missed a week of my writing and a week of profitable real estate work.
A bump in the road.
As it turns out, I had a stroke, and am writing this in a Nashville Hospital. If I were to completely disappear tonight, I don’t want to be remembered as an average writer who successfully copied other writing styles. in order to make more money. I would much prefer to be remembered as someone who made readers smile, in his own way. Even if it turns out that I prove to myself I am not a good writer, at least I will be my own writer
My definition of humor is the assembling or juxtaposition of dialogues and/ or concepts that seem odd when considered together. My writing style is more like a stream-of-consciousness train, that departs the station sometimes and winds its way across the story. So, I will now veer back to a comfortable place, and start to assemble my portfolio on my own publication. Eventually, I hope this will include my entire body of work, including some stories originally published in other publications.
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Don’s a keen observer and prolific reporter of truth, common sense, humor, & life. He’s a WRITER|HUMORIST, sometimes serious, sometimes tongue-in-cheek. He lives in Nashville, Tn. and publishes several places every weekday morning.
