Seven decades have not diminished one myth I grew up with. It has a placeof honor in my head that makes me smile. I still remember when I heard what would happen to my vision if I wacked my weinie!
I was undeterred and ready to go blind at eleven when I tossed caution aside infavor of pleasure – after some experimenting – and crossed the line between boyhood and manhood. I look back now with fondness at my innocence.
I never could fully understand the taboo against exploring my own body but would have preferred to be thrown in a cauldron of boiling oil than admit that. I joined my peers in mocking others accused of that crime of solo indulgence.It was a mean meme before there was such a thing.
My recollection of who came up with the myth is fuzzy, but I’ve narrowed it down to the church and parentsuniversally who don’t want their offspring to ever have sex.
The first time I had something published in college I knew I was a writer. Not the normal reaction of, “Oh, I knew I wanted to be a writer after that.”
The sense that I was a scribe in full bloom was mostly vanity coupled with an imagination that continues to lead me down dark paths and redemptive roads with a twist for my readers.
My confession. “Great Editor in the Sky: Forgive me for I have sinned. I’ve written numerous things with the barest of editing. Yes, it’s true. Even to this day I only edit for spelling and grammar.
I’ve heard of rewriting and more than one draft, but I admit I seldom if ever, do that.”
So there you have it my fellow scribes. How could I seriously write without all the stress expressed by my peers? How could I not spend endless hours refining and polishing my poetry or prose and expect it to be good?
In my defense, I believe in spontaneity. I see a blank screen, or page, as an opportunity to roll around in lush fields of exploration seeking the holy grail of being a popular writer while defying norms.
But I’m too lazy to be a popular writer. It would mean marketing and other things that leave me colder than an Egyptian Maus in a meat locker.
I’m just a lazy old man with an imagination and a love for words. My joy comes in sharing. The fact that a stranger would stop – even for a second – to look at something I’ve written, makes my day. My reward for not having to howl at the moon alone…knowing others are out there.