Who I am. And what I’m for.
Except when I eloped during my senior year in high school, I followed the rigid rules of my Methodist father. I thought my father was God until I was thirty-years-old and was “saved” by a religious event, in which I learned everything is a story. Including the God thing … the Jesus thing … everything. Well, I had to decide whether I could live by just walking on the water of words?
When I woke up, I thought I had been successful in dying, but, alas, I was only in a locked room in a funny farm—which, of course, wasn’t funny at the time. But on the third day, I asked the nurse for some paper and a pencil. I wrote three pages of something that my husband (then) said was awful. So, I quit writing again until I ended up back in the psych ward.
The rest is history: Four children, ordained pastor,* divorce, remarriage, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and old. Now, I live by the water and laugh with my husband and friends as much as possible. I have broken several religious rules.
Here’s the “scripture” I live by: The final belief is to believe in a fiction, there being nothing else. The exquisite truth is to know that it is a fiction and that you believe in it willingly. –Wallace Stevens
So, that’s why in my oldest age, I still love writing. Mostly stories.
I hope you will enjoy reading some of them and even tell me some of yours.
* I served United Methodist Churches for almost 25 years and let me tell you,
almost no one wants to believe—really believe—Wallace Stevens.