What I do

I write. That, in short form, is what I do. I also edit, which, being about words, ideas, and images, is part of writing. I observe. I imagine. I organize. And while I’m doing that, I attempt to distill into words what I'm observing, imagining, or organizing. It’s what I’ve been doing since I could hold a crayon. I tell stories. Some factual, some fictional, some strictly my opinion. All true.

When I was not yet 10, Gene Bennett taught me to type.  My first typewriter was an antique Underwood with clackety keys and a satisfying krrrrrring when I returned the platen. “The quick brown fox jumped over the log” soon became pages and pages of observations and conversations and thoughts poured out near the close of most of my childhood days. My diary grew as did my skill with a keyboard. Eventually, placing my hands on a keyboard—any keyboard—would start the flow of words and ideas, causing me to sort and reassemble what I knew and what I understood.

Years later, when my then-five-year-old son told his class what his mother did for a living, he said that I was “a typer.” He didn’t understand the concept of a professional writer, but his description, while limited, is accurate. Apply hands to keyboard. Writing happens.