My Style

I asked my children to describe my writing style. Perhaps I should have asked some total strangers who maybe stumbled across something by me on my blog or a friend’s Facebook page, my reactions were interesting, I guess. One said he didn’t realize I had a style, being sixteen and the subject of my little stories quite often, he is in denial that I write at all. Another one was pretending to be asleep so he didn’t have to give an opinion but he likes the written word and even with my blunders I think he approves of my work. The little ones who can read the paper love to see my picture but rarely get what I’m talking about, yeah, I know that’s hard to imagine. The best answer I got was “Well, you are not as funny as… maybe a stand up comedian, but you’re better than the obituaries.” I suppose I should be flattered and offer my honest respect for whoever it is who actually writes the obituaries but I thought about it for a few minutes and decided neither of those options are what I’m shooting for.
I make no claims as a writer’s writer. My stories are for readers who like the truth with a chuckle thrown in here and there. I am entertainment, on a good day; a nudge in the right direction, hopefully. I feel like I write to my friends whether I’ve met you yet or not. I am nothing special and I know it.
Sometimes funny things happen, sometimes I have to just laugh to keep from crying. I imagine the view of my life from above is a kaleidoscope of crazy, crazy colors, crazy people, and crazy events at an incredibly insane speed. I often tell young mothers who are struggling with day to day life with kids, work, school or whatever it is stretching them to their limits that it goes by in a blink. It is almost the truth.
Last weekend, I sat in my oldest daughter’s home in Virginia listening to her talk with her younger sister while we all watched THEIR children playing in the floor. For a second I had to remind myself who I was and what was happening. My grandchildren were crawling on the rug and taking toys from one another. It was surreal. I told them so. I can’t believe they are grown and have children of their own.
Last Christmas we had one little granddaughter. This year we have three grandchildren. If we continue to grow at this rate I will have to rent a circus tent to do Thanksgiving. The huge dining room of the famous Biltmore House in Asheville, NC has a table that seats 64. My second daughter saw it in a magazine and pointed it out to me. That’s what I’m picturing by the time all mine have families of their own. I hope I get a novel cranked out by then. I’ll need a best seller to feed them all.
I suppose it doesn’t matter what my writing style is, what matters, at least to me is being real, and getting it all down on paper because when I blink for the last time someone will have to write my obituary. I hope whoever it is will have something interesting to say and…
I hope it’s just a little bit funny.