Now that I’ve had time to think about it, this “Age Thing” I wrote about last time is pretty much “full of prunes,” as my mom would say. We each come to our callings, our tuggings, at differing stages of our lives. Yeah, maybe I am getting a late start, writing-wise, (which I’m making increasingly later by my whiney and mopey procrastination, by the way), but so what? By all systems of measure, writing is what I want, and am called, to do. So why aren’t I? Because I just turned 50? Sheesh, whatta load of horse-hooey!
Earlier this week, a nearby newly-published writer came to town: Andrea M Jones. In the December issue of Colorado Central, I reviewed her, Between Urban and Wild. So strongly did her writing impress me, I urged the local bookstore to include her in one of their upcoming monthly book readings/signings. On one hand, I wanted Andrea to receive the recognition and expansion of her audience for which her writing was due. (I also figured it’d be a good thing for the bookstore, having her. This same bookstore that’s supported me in all the ten years it’s been open.) On the other hand, I wanted to meet this woman, this writer whom in my review I compared to Annie Dillard, and also Susan J Tweit and Laura Pritchett.
Guess what. Turns out Ms Jones just might be a wee bit older than I. And I don’t think she’s given any notion to her age being an excuse for not writing, for not sending her writings out into the world. So what’s my excuse, now?