So, like millions of other people, I decided to start a blog. It isn’t because I feel I have anything particularly inspiring or insightful to say. Rather, it seems the thing to do these days, especially for writers who are looking forward to getting published some day. Oh, I’ve had a few short stories published, but nothing of much consequence. It is the novel – the one in rough draft form that sits unedited on my desk – that I am hoping will see the publishing light of day sometime soon. It’s not quite the “great American novel”, unless fixations with sociopaths, murder and dark humor are part of the lexicon that are the mainstream themes of Americana. They are, however, subjects about which I’ve always been fascinated and those that my entire family seem to relish. That’s partly why I’ve called my blog, “The Other Shoe.”
I haven’t led an exciting life by most people’s standards, but it has been eventful, mostly in a jarring way. I live in constant anticipation of the other shoe dropping. For some reason, in my mind, it’s always the right shoe that falls – never the left – and at my age, I have enough right shoes to open up a boutique for a very select, and lopsided clientele. For many years I remained poised like a cat to pounce on that next shoe. Ready to take action, control the situation with strength and poise. Lately though, I find myself acting more like a possum; frozen and immobile in hopes that the shoe doesn’t hit me.
I’m not quite sure where this blog will take me, but I suspect some of it will be telling my story, in a way that I hope at least resonates with some people. I hope it is funny. I hope that it’s at least marginally interesting enough to keep people reading. And I hope that it helps me grow as a writer, even if that means accepting critical feedback. Just don’t send me any right shoes. I have more than I will ever need.
‘Til the urge strikes me again ~