My WordPress community is so good to me, so understanding and accepting, I almost forgot what a weirdo I am.
But then my in-laws came over to remind me.
I emailed a link to my creepy story to them the other day, so when they stopped in last night, I asked if they liked it.
They didn’t get it.
I asked if it was because they didn’t know what an earworm was, and no, they didn’t, but they got puzzled by the mental health references.
Fortunately MIL brought me some chocolate-covered coconut which helped some. At least they love me enough to try to understand.
When they left, The Mister asked me why I was upset.
Well, so many things, but basically it boils down to the unsettling feeling of not being understood. That’s a terrible feeling. It reminds me of being that weird girl in school.
The Mister was never that weird girl in school, so he can’t really relate.
Don’t think I was some sorta outcast or something — I wasn’t. I had plenty of friends, dates, and a schedule full of activities. I was just always oddly uncool, as I am now.
Now, here on WordPress, lotsa people seem to understand me. Seem to really get me. I am grateful for people who really get me. I have a consistent audience, which makes me feel the exact opposite of being that weird girl in school.
I am still her though.
As a writer, I am so much her.
I struggle with how much to tell. As an author, it’s important to make sure you’re readable, but at the same time, you don’t want to insult your reader’s intelligence. Carefully, I clue.
My style simply doesn’t lend itself to short sentences and easy clarity. No, I write with multiple layers of imagery and subtlety. I assume my readers are well-read, and therefore, every bit as knowledgeable as I. I assume they follow my metaphorical trail of breadcrumbs.
See? Can’t even.
I think too much, I feel too much, I see too much, and if prompted, I say too much.
I accepted this early on. No sense pretending. No good dumbing down. Much better to be authentic, attract the right people to begin with. This is who I am. I am not everyone’s cup of tea. I will never be, not as a person, not as a blogger, not as a fiction writer. I am unsuitable for mass consumption. I have accepted this, and most of the time, I take pride in genuinely being me.
So let me thank you, Dear Readers, for being so understanding and accepting. Extra special thanks to those of you who read, understood, and even enjoyed my story this last week. It means the world to me.
>insert all the hearts here<
Do you struggle with how much to tell and show? Were you a weird kid? Are you a weird adult? Does your family even get you?