Charles Bukowski said, “Find what you love, and let it kill you.”
Now this guy was known to say some strange stuff. Strange and beautiful. And in a beautiful way this strange quote tells you everything you need to know about me. (So I thought this picture seemed fitting, plus I know my late father-in-law would get a kick out of it!)
I often think most people might not get this quote—if you understand it however, I bet we’d get along very well.
Find what you love. By love I think this means passion; don’t eat, don’t sleep, cut your ear off kind of passion.
I was lucky enough to find what I love (creating stories, characters, worlds) in my teens and have been writing ever since. “Find what you love,” check! And hey, I still have both my ears! I felt that passion, that ‘reason your walking the earth’ thing. I felt it more with everything I wrote. So I kept writing.
The let it kill you part is harder to grasp, it’s kind of like easily spending 12 hours a day in another world then realizing I was sitting with my legs in a pretzel and haven’t stood up once or eaten a bite of food the entire time (needless to say things like laundry and dishes pose a major challenge).
Stories take over my life in the best way, they kill the me that needs things. Earthy things. But it’s more than that. Letting what you love kill happens when that thing you love strips and peels away all those false parts that crop up constantly—doing what I love, and letting it kill me, all the parts of me I don’t need, it’s not painless mind you, but it is so worth it.
When I’m not at my desk clicking away on my computer, I can be found mostly driving my kids around. I replenish my soul by planting things in my garden or doing yoga in this little room I heat up in my house.
Fun Fact 1: I believe leggings ARE pants. You can try to convince me otherwise but you’ll never get those minutes of your life back and will have wasted them.
Fun Fact 2: Spring is my favorite season. I love it like girls on Tumblr love polka-dots, but this wasn’t always so. When I lived in Florida I detested spring; the agitation began at Easter and Mother’s Day was the kiss of death. This is, of course, because spring is the promise of summer and if you’ve lived through a summer in Florida then you know that spring is merely a stay of execution. But in Georgia where I’ve lived for the last decade, spring is glorious.