Personal Essays
Alphabet Soup
In the end, I know I'm playing a game on you, just like everyone else who keeps an online journal or posts pictures on the Internet of their books and husbands and living rooms and spectacular weekend outings. I know I'm making up the me I share with the world, carefully picking out particular tiles from the giant pile of letters I keep in my stash and hoping they'll read just right.
I'm okay with that. Because when it comes down to it, I don't want to serve you up a big bowl of alphabet soup, all the bits of me sitting jumbled and juxtaposed in a heap, even if it is more honest.
I may be shy, but that doesn't mean I'm not vain. I'm doing the same thing as everyone else out here: writing the novel of my life every day and hoping you'll stick around long enough to read the rest of my ordinary little masterpiece.