I have been writing or telling stories since I was a child. I had five younger siblings and keeping them quite was my predominate job. My parents traveled a lot and keeping kids entertained on long trips before there were movie screens in vehicles or PCPs or PSPs . . I never can keep it straight. Regardless, it was my head if my younger siblings bothered my parents.
So I am innately a storyteller. I finished the ninth grade and part of the way through the tenth. Then I got my GED and then started on my road to education. In the manner of Abraham Lincoln–I would walk a long ways to get the book I was searching for and to some extent; self-educated. If the information was in a book-I could learn it.
Well, I’m in a mood today. I have been for a few weeks. I know the realities of self publishing and I feel the writing, the telling of stories is collapsing under the pressure to create a platform. A platform is necessary. It can’t be avoided. I wish I could hire some one to do that part for me. My Facebook “cover” and “profile pic” suck. I haven’t got “my big girl panties” on this morning. I don’t drink, but I’m going to cry “another tear in my beer” (coffee). If you don’t understand that phrase-don’t worry-it’s lyrics from an old country music song.