Writing a blog requires shameless promotion—an activity that goes
completely against the grain unless you are a narcissist. Remember how badly you felt when someone called you a showoff? So it is very hard to say to friends, family and acquaintances, “Hey, take a look
at something I’ve done.”
But it’s easier to do when we think someone might be a kindred spirit. And like Anne of Green Gables, I’m discovering that “Kindred spirits are not so scarce as I used to think. It’s splendid to find out that there are so many of them in the world.”
Yesterday, I ran into a former acquaintance at Barnes and Noble (look at my checkbook, you’ll see how often I’m there--first affinity); she introduced me to her fourth child—born sometime after her 40th birthday (as I’m quick to tell anyone, I had my first child at 44--second affinity); she was buying Rosetta Stone to prepare her and the children for an upcoming trip to Italy (loves travel to and study of European culture--third affinity). I was pretty sure she was a kindred spirit so I took a chance and mentioned my blog. Here’s a shoutout to Kristen Bonola and all my friends at Harvest Christian Academy.
At the risk of sounding like Barry Manilow (If You Like Piña Coladas), this blog’s for you if you . . .
· Love traveling to Paris or have traveling to Paris as one of your ambitions.
That’s pretty much everybody, isn’t it?
· Have a whimsical side and enjoy sometimes being utterly frivolous.
My scooter bug logo--designed by my good friend and kindred spirit Diana McPhail, formerly of Southlake and now of Kansas City--says it all.
I will, on
occasion, address a serious topic.
For example, I think I’m going to post an entry about The Kindly Ones, a prize-winning book
written in French by an American about WWII’s eastern front, a book that is the
antithesis of frivolous. But when
I do have something controversial to say, I’ve adopted Michael Sowa’s Fowl with Pearls as a warning label
which I will display at the beginning of the post.
· Have a creative side that is not fully developed.
My trips to Paris are a way for me to affirm that it is okay to make creativity and personal expression a priority. As I wrote in one of my columns for the Fort Worth Star Telegram, “I have paid my dues to the good and the true, now I want to turn my attention to the beautiful.” Frankly, I’m in a more lighthearted place now than I was then. I have no pretentions about writing a blog that drifts upward, reaching for the sublime. I would much rather amuse you or make you laugh.
My first success as a writer was in Jean Routzong’s senior English class at Smith Cotton High School, Sedalia, Missouri, the spring of 1971. I can’t remember the assigned topic, but the class was broken into groups. The best essay from each group was peer-selected and then read aloud to the class. My humorous essay was selected, and I vividly remember not being able to continue reading because the class was laughing so hard that I got tickled too. It was the best feeling in the world—hands down, the best. I can understand how comedians get addicted to the laughs. There’s nothing better.
In a future post, I will tell you about my second most enjoyable writing experience—and it is directly related to Paris.
