I don’t write to be famous, I don’t write to be known, I write because I am and I want to be read. How sad to fill a room with paintings no one sees or play music no one hears. Writing is talking without sound, singing without score and dancing without movement and yet, it is all of them. It is a solitary art conjured from thought and expressed by the need to communicate.

HEAD SLAPS, SPEED BUMPS and LIGHTBULBS, one woman's WTF, oops and ah-ha moments of life.

They were published once, and as every writer knows, once is not enough.

Sunday, September 7, 2014

Fab Four, Fear and FDR

Have you ever been really, really, I mean really afraid to do something because you’d either get sick, get pregnant or die? Yes I wanted to get drunk after the prom, dance the deed with Jimmy the quarterback and drive 150 mph on the Rte. 66. But I was a new kid in town. I never went to the prom, Jimmy didn’t know I existed and I chickened out at 110.

Years ago I was interviewed on Fox News, (World-wide, NY studio) as a result of a video I made regarding, (it really doesn't matter now). I had two days to prepare and spent most of it in the bathroom. I was Ex-lax petrified and lost eight pounds.

I live two hours away from NYC but on the appointed day a limo picked me up and off I went. I did the whole green-room, make-up artist thing, appeared on camera and was interviewed by Martha MacCallum. As scared as I was, you know what I learned…it was easy, it was fun, I loved it.

Over ninety years ago the guy in the wheelchair said, “…the only thing we have to fear is fear itself.”

I think many writers place obstacles, create pitfalls and sabotage their own efforts because they fear success. I did, back when I was young, unguided and stupid.

I know of relationships, jobs and creative achievements I let go of, by way of, the ancillaries I failed to express, produce or accomplish. I was afraid of the requirements of love, the dedication to work and commitment to my passion. What if he didn’t love me, what if I didn’t like the job, they didn’t like me or what if I am merely mediocre at what I love to do.

I painted, won awards and shuttered my studio. I wrote music for a band, reveled in the performances and sold my piano. I wrote, almost everything I sent out was accepted, then I darkened my monitor. (For ten years).

I set my mind and hands to doing other things until I realized that I, we, all of us get only one ticket to ride. (Thank you John and Paul.)

I’m not afraid anymore. I am doing what it takes and if success, achievement, the call, whatever, doesn’t happen it will not be for lack of effort. It’s easy, it’s fun and I love it.

Do what fills your heart because ‘eventually’ is not a promise and ‘time’ is not forever.

I'm already planning an encore.



  1. My dear friend, I sit and read your words and am continually in awe. Surely I am not the "authority" on what's a good read, but I think I can judge lousy and crappy compared to interesting and good. When I read your words they lift me in various ways and I guess that's what writing is all about. I find comfort in feedback on my blog for those who actually make my recipes and it makes everything I go through all worth it. I am glad you didn't go with Jimmy or test the limits of 66, but I sure am glad you are pushing the boundaries and not fearing to forge ahead until one day you'll read: Dear Carolynn, we have decided that we would love to work with you on your novel.

    1. From your mouth to God's ear. You are too kind.

      This morning before work I did some editing and reread the Divine Caroline piece I wrote a couple of years ago.


      I'm sure the link won't work but that's the address.

      Anyway, I was thinking about cutting it, because part of it is a repeat, but Jesus Christ Patty I couldn't. I can't believe I wrote it. Isn't that strange. I feel as if someone else crawled inside my head, hooked up to my heart and hands and wrote it.
      I've stopped querying agents because I'm in the midst of another edit. Almost done again. Revisiting the old stuff is like reading someone else's work.

      BTW I'm serious about your cook book.