Just a little bit crazy...

Kids do it, and they are people, too.  So why is it when I talk about my characters to my friends and family, they look at me like I've really lost it?  What's so bad about imaginary friends?

I wasn't born a writer (although I was born into an academic household, thank you, mom), nor did I earn a degree in Literature, but I have found my passion.  When I was a young mother, having children, one, then two, then three, then four, I thought that was the greatest miracle ever imagined (still do).  How wonderful to be able to create these little people, darling, full of life and personality.  I wanted a dozen.  But in the blink of an eye they grew into teenagers ~ holy cow, I'm glad I wasn't granted the gift of twelve of those darling little miracles.  (Hello Angelina, stop now while you've still got a chance, and money!)

BUT, now I can start all over.  I can create my own people again!  Hurray.  And dogs, cats, horses.  I can live in New York City, Los Angeles, Costa Rica, Buenos Aires, anywhere I can imagine... all from the comfort of my home office, aka the guest bedroom.  How does this make me crazy?

Some would say, "Just preface your thoughts with 'my character Danny', as opposed to 'You'll never believe what Danny did today.'"  Others say, "Show me the money, then we'll just call you eccentric."  Well, sure, a paycheck would be nice, but that doesn't make me valid.

I write because I can't not write.  Call me crazy.

Off to the looney bin,
Karolyn

Don't hate me because I'm narcissistic

Things I love (Installment #1):  Last weekend I returned from a decades-long trip to the moon, and I walked into a jazz concert rehearsal at the New England Conservatory.  Fronting the school's orchestra was a darn good quartet, whom I was soon told was the Wayne Shorter quartet.  My son explained to me that I was in the presence of greatness, and he wasn't even talking about himself.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wayne_Shorter


Ok, so I was never really exposed to jazz music (please refer to my bio... the part about having four children.)  Back when Mr. Shorter was making history with Herbie Hancock, Carlos Santana, Joni Mitchell, and so many others, I was reading Dr. Seuss to my kids.  But back to things I love.  If I had happened to run into Mr. Shorter that day, say at Whole Foods, I wouldn't have had any idea of whom he was, or what those lips and hands were capable of.  I love discovering the hidden talent in a person.  (Yes, I buried the lead there.)  I love it when you meet a person, and later discover that they are a famous musician, artist, rocket scientist, writer, or anything, really, this side of a supermodel.  Now, when I stand in line at the grocery store, I try to show all due respect to the nerdy man ahead of me.  For all I know, he could have invented blogging.


Off to the library,
Karolyn

Day 1, Blog 1, Followers 0

Ah, the freedom of anonymity. My first entry is like writing in a secret diary, right? If anyone out there reads this... sorry for the young winding stream of consciousness. I've had my coffee this morning, so I have officially crossed the laconic/loquacious line. That can be good or bad, depending on so many, many things.

I sit, in my usual spot, at a public library... just the homeless, the jobless, and me. Outside my window is an enormous building under construction. It is the visual equivalence to my current novel: That Changes Everything. With any luck at all, I can finish (and PUBLISH) my novel before the worker ants are done and the employees move in and spill their coffee on the new carpet. Coffee, to me, is like communal wine... if I spill it, I'm likely to get down and lick it up. Do they still have to do that in Catholic churches?

All right, to make this official, I should tell you about my novel. It's the story of an ex-hedge fund manager who goes broke and moves to Brooklyn to rebuild his life. But it's really so much more than that. He, Danny King, is searching for a new love, a new life, and answers about what really happened to his mentor who died in a suspicious car accident. Think: Wall Street meets Serendipity.

Enough for today. I need to save my fingers for the real thing.

Until next time, Karolyn