What's it all about?

For those of you who know me (and are still reading me,) they recognise that there comes a time when I ask, "What's it all about?"

This is my fourth blog. The first one was the HUMOROUS TUMOROUS, a log of dealing with my brain tumor and the resulting radiation. There were times during that blog that I was at my caustic, humorous best, but I was being NUKED for crying out loud and people will forgive a lady with a brain tumor just about anything.

Then I became the MAD MOMWRITER . I morphed out of my tumor phase and into my pretty darn pissed, off crazy stage. During that blog, I tried without success to make myself seem crazier, zanier and more upper class than I actually was. I also drank a lot during that blog... but it had a certain cache.

I was inspired during that phase to lose a bunch of weight because I wanted to be a real winner, dontchya know, and had a secret blog called WORKING AT SLIM. I only shared that with a bunch of other crazy people who had nothing better to do all day except obsess over calories, carbs and other off limit treats. I was really pathetic... though even now I wish I had kept it up. I lost forty pounds, for heaven's sake.

Now I am MARTINIS, MOTHERHOOD AND MAYHEM. (Boy, can I relate.) This blog was supposed to be more serious...more about my fiction career, writing and the publishing world in general. Except I have found that other people do it so much better. Diana Peterfreund, for one. Intellegence and serious literary thought are her hallmark. I always come away from her sensitive, thought provoking posts on literature feeling like a Clampett. "Sure baby, bring me another beer and pass me them thar peanuts will ya?" Rachel from Work in Progress is another one. (What's she doing? She's plotting? For how long? What the heck is that all about?) One of my crit partners, an amazingly talented writer is all stuck on the theme. Theme? What the hells a theme? Isn't that the thing that so confused me in highschool that it made a voracious reader like me, skip literature class to go have a smoke? (Am I revealing too much here?) (And for your information I quit seven years ago and was rewarded with a brain tumor, thank you very much) What do you mean I can't read ahead... what the heck is a lit class for except to read?

But I digress. Ahem.

So I guess I am here for the support. I want to be able to say, "this sucks, I suck" and have a bunch of people say, "no, you don't, this is just a part of the process." (Though for all you people know, I might really suck! Snort) I want to whine and gloat and whimper and roar and snivel and beam. I want to be understood. I want to vent to people who get it. I want to read about other people whining and waiting, even Rachel and Diana, who are so much smarter than I, have to whine and wait. Maybe being a writer is the great equalizer. We all must whine and wait. No matter talented we are or aren't.

As my friend Linda says, "Thanks for playing."