I want to live in a world where Harold’s purple crayon is my own, cheesecake is an acceptable breakfast choice, and no one thinks I’m crazy for falling in love with fictional characters.
A writer and an artist, I have never been able to abandon my nostalgic love of paper. Letters and cards you can hold in your hands and hang on the fridge, old notes and drawings from years ago and from yesterday, well-worn notebooks and journals filled with my own stories and thoughts and dreams, and books – old books, new books, love stories, cookbooks, children’s books, and that big fat dictionary I’ve had since junior high sitting on the shelf beside my ultra-nerdy mathlete trophy. I love you, paper. Sorry, Earth.
Despite the lack of paper involved, this blog is long overdue. I have written enough fiction for at least five novels, but my damn shyness and lack of confidence have kept me from following that dream. As I’ve matured, so has my work [yes, in that way, too]. Of course, my inability and unwillingness to truly end my stories also poses a problem. I love my imaginary worlds and my beautiful characters. Why would I ever want any of it to end?
When I’m not writing or creating lovely things, you can find me reading, dreaming, over-thinking everything, watching entirely too much television, calming high anxiety without giving up my coffee habit, reminiscing about that time I was voted prom queen, or trying to figure out what the hell my family wants for dinner.
Should you stick around [please do], you can look forward to reading what I think [and telling me what you think] about everything – love, music, sex, dreams, angst, memories, life – peppered with my own special touches of sarcasm, darkness, and foul language. And now that I’ve finally accepted that my writing doesn’t totally suck, you’ll get some fiction and poetry. Written by me. Especially for you. Because I’m here for your enjoyment. Okay, that’s a lie. I’m here for my enjoyment. But I want you to enjoy me, too.
I hope you’ll poke around, read old posts and new ones, check out the fiction and the poetry. And while you’re on the ride through Sandra’s mind [please keep hands and feet inside the car at all times], I hope you’ll follow and share and comment and put up posters of my thoughts for the world to see. I’m not opposed to being publicized on the side of a bus.
Since I hated writing this about page, I sought assistance from my family. Therefore, I feel obligated to share the ‘first words that come to mind when you think of me’ from my 11-year-old son, “the boy”, my 8-year-old daughter, “the girl”, and my same-age-as-me [not telling] husband, John*.
Intelligent. Creative. Sarcastic. Loving. Boobs. Funny. Sweet. Artistic. Frisky.
[Guess which ones were my husband’s? For confirmation of your suspicions, read this.]
And by the way, frisky is accurate. Some posts are [clearly] intended for 18+ readers.
Always happy to hear from you with your thoughts, comments or confessions. Contact me privately here or email me directly at whatsandrathinks @ gmail .com (remove spaces)]
[For more about why I am here, visit this post.]