I grew up in a dysfunctional family. Actually, it was a broken home, but we stayed together out of habit. I assigned myself a very important job within the family. I had to keep everyone laughing, sort of like the skills of a rodeo clown. And I was good at it, so very good. I can still see the tears of laughter rolling down their cheeks, doubled over and holding their stomach's.
It took some time for me to find the entrance to my true creativity. With a little solitude and reflection, pruning and bulldozing, I have made some headway and fashioned a means of access. But that same access has been shaped into a revolving door, which makes it just as easy to exit as it is to enter. A blessing and a burden. My first love was art, and I spent many years rendering pet portraits for the almost rich and famous. I had to quit sketching people after a time. I found that I was being turned into a cosmetic surgeon. "Make my nose smaller," "straighten my teeth," "I want more hair." Doggies don't give a hoot if their hair is thinning or they have freckles on their nose.
The love of my life now, is writing. I adore mystery, a good romance and lots of action in a story. But the ghost of the rodeo clown still lives in me and finds ways to thread humor throughout. The things that I find funny appall some people. Dark and dangerous may be lurking out there, but I can always find some piece of humor in the worst of situations. That in itself, I realize can by quite annoying. Still, I believe that laughter heals the heart, and there sure are a lot of broken hearts out there.
Today I surround myself with other writers, where I feel most comfortable and not forced to wear the false-face. I can be myself and laugh at the sad parts and cry at the happy ones. How many people are lucky enough to find that?