Ya Lil’ Devil You!

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Describe your personal style, however you’d like to interpret that — your clothing style, your communication style, your hair style, your eating style, anything.


I started to write when I was nine years old.

My Aunt Sharon had introduced me to the TV show ” The Twilight Zone ” and after watching  ” Will The Real Martian Please Stand Up ” and Rod Serling’s intro I knew that was the life for me.

I wanted to wear black and tell stories.

Shortly after that  I started to write stories and I would make covers and would bind the notebook paper with yard or string and I carefully lined them up on my bookshelf with all of my other books.

Later when I was going through a box in my Mom’s storage room I found all of my notebooks and those little stories stored away.

I was lucky, as I moved through school and up until  graduated my teachers actually talked to each other and encouraged me to continue to write.

This prompt made me think, what is my style (  where writing is concerned?)

My style.


We could label it by genre or I could tell a little story about how I approach my writing.

I approach it the same way as I did as when I was nine years old.

I wanted to write and I liked to write and I didn’t see any reason in the world not to do it no matter what anyone said or what else was going on in my life.

So unlike  in the other areas of my life I never asked anyone, ” do you think I could be a writer?”,  ” Do you think I could be a good writer? “

Heaven or Hell help anyone who asked me why I write what I write, or that I suck or that I don’t know what I’m doing.

That kid in me shows up on my face, my Devil’s Horns pop out ( my Mom was big on saying that when we were being naughty or sassy- she still says to this day” Oh look your Devil Horns are showing” ) and I say:

” Because my Parole Officer said if I don’t keep busy with SOMETHING  I’ll probably end up back on the Psych Ward at the Prison again. “

To answer your question- no I have not been to the Psych Ward in Prison but I have been saying that since I was 10 and when I do it’s like saying it to the same person because everyone gets the same look on their face.

You know how it goes, if it ain’t broke don’t fix it so I’ve been using that line for over 40 years.

That  is my writing style-  I do it with determination, I do it with joy and I have a Hell of time when I’m at it.


It Was One Of Those Days


Today on my way home from work I was thinking about Wolfgang A Mozart-

not the composer.

My cat.

Wolfie was a part of my family and he was with us for 17 years. He grew up with my sons. He stayed by my side ( and kittens who are less than a year old have better things to do than lay on your pillow and rub their little faces on your jaw for hours at a time)  when I was suffering from bronchitis ( probably brought on by my eating habits) and had a terrible time trying to breathe.

When he died he passed from kidney failure and died in my arms.

The summer he died was the summer that all of that poisoned pet food was turning up and killing pets all over the country.

I was feeding Wolfie one of those brands because he was having trouble chewing and he loved that stuff so I switched him over to soft canned food- and shortly after his kidneys began to fail.

Before he died the Vet said that having a  Necropsy was an option but to keep something  in mind. Wolfie was almost 18 and something was going to give.

So when Wolfie died, he died at home in my arms at home and no I did not have the Necropsy done because I didn’t want to learn that I may have inadvertently killed my beloved Wolfie- literally -with kindness.

So when it comes close to the time ( it was August ) when Wolfie fell ill I start to grieve again ( he died in ’07).

And today on the way home from work I started to think about Wolfie and the tears just streamed out of my eyes and it was August  2007  again and the Vet was calling to tell me Wolfie was terminal and that I was going to lose him.

Today there was a young woman sitting next to me on the bus. She looked over at me, I looked out the window and after we had been riding together for about five minutes she reached into her bag and handed me a napkin and she said, ” here you go”

She said it with such kindness that I smiled. Dried my face and when I started to cry again I could without worrying what she thought( because without knowing the she was clearly empathetic ) and I could blow my nose.

I got off the bus before she did and when I got up she looked at me and she said, ” I hope you have a good evening.”

I smiled and thanked her.

Her simple  act of kindness and that wish I have a good evening was a reminder that I COULD have a good evening.

And that’s when I saw her eyes were as blue as the brightest summer sky-just like Wolfie’s had been.

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