I love stories from a writer's heart. Jewels from Frazzled & Frumpy is my amazing guest-blogger today. She has eight kids. Eight. I looked it up and discovered she pretty qualifies for sainthood.
So thank you for this wonderful post, Jewels. You make me feel like Glinda singing to Elphaba in Wicked (check out the live version on link, just because I love it so much). But in all actuality, it is I who is green with envy.
Have a read and be sure to follow Jewels. Did I mention the eight kids thing? Think of all the comedic potential. Her well doth never run dry.
When Marianne asked me to write a guest post, I got some very unfamiliar feelings in my stomach. Feelings I always longed for, but rarely experience.
It goes back to when I was in grade school. Our school had a yearly talent show. I remember well the day the sign-up sheet was passed around. I’d watch the other kids as they scribbled their names and talents on the clipboard. Then it would get to me. I so wanted to add my name. Instead, I just passed it on. On to Lisa who sat behind me. She signed it along with the word "piano."
I didn’t play the piano. Unless you counted chopsticks, but even then, you would have to show me where to start. I didn’t sing. Never could. For a while, I fancied myself a gymnast. I took one year of summer gymnastics. I thought I was pretty special, too, because I could do a backbend. Yep, I found out pretty quick that real gymnasts need more than one trick.
As for tricks, there was one boy in our school who always did magic for the talent show. His dad was a professional magician. Which means he got his gift through genes. Totally unfair to us muggles.
The day of the talent show was filled with anticipation. Kids dressed in their Sunday best. Or even better, costumes. Lisa sat behind me in her flowy dress and Mary Janes. The talented ones got to leave class early to set up. I would walk with the rest of the drudges, kicking the floor with my brown loafers.
I was a writer. I knew this from a very young age. But, writing isn’t a performing talent. You can’t sit in front of a crowd and plug out a story. I suppose you could recite one of your poems. Imagine how popular that would make you. So I lived a life of watching others as they pranced and chortled and made cards disappear.
Then a few years ago, I discovered blogging. Suddenly, I had a way to share my talent. I found others like me. I read their stuff and applauded them through comments. And, amazingly, the favor was returned. Every comment is like a mini ovation. I read them and I am finally on stage, wearing a flowy dress and taking my bow. I curtsy and smile through my blush.
Thanks to Marianne for allowing me to feel popular today. I am pretty sure she owns more than one pair of Mary Janes.