About Me

Not Ready For Prime Time, But Who Cares?

© NoSystem Images from Getty Images Signature via

First, Let Me Say Who I’m Not

Although I went to college, I’m not formally educated in fine arts, writing, graphics, or web design. So, other than required professional memos, I didn’t write much until after my husband left me, and I started journaling for self-therapy.

Nope, I don’t profess to be a professional ‘writer’ or blogger. I’m a hobbyist, at best.

You can classify me as a feral blogger, playing somewhere in the wild — hiding out from all those folks with whips and chains. You know, the ones who pride themselves on being ‘real’ writers. The ones who live to rebuke others for niggly elements of style — missing the message in someone’s article altogether.


Yes, I said hide. I’d probably write a whole lot more if I wasn’t aware of the grammar nazis waiting, wielding their red pencils ready to flog others publicly. LOL. I seem to have this ‘thing’ about public embarrassment in the last few years. I can’t imagine why.

Lord only knows how many participles I’ve left dangling, or how many gerunds I’ve scattered along the way.

Hopefully, some kind soul came behind me and built an orphanage for all the infinitives I’ve split from their family members, leaving them to fend for themselves in the blogosphere.

Honestly, I don’t care. I’m not writing for money — or bowling for dollars. I’m not trying to impress people with my intellect — that’s obvious, eh? Nope, I’m just a creative person who loves to write — one who definitely could use an editor before Prime Time.

What’s In Your Closet? (Me? A Touch of ADHD)

The bottom line is that I write as I think, and therein lies my gift — or problem — depending on how you look at it. I write conversational pieces, so most of the time, my work isn’t what purists would consider appropriately formatted.

Again, that’s okay with me.

I’m a grandma for Pete’s sake. It took me decades to even find my ‘voice’ so I have to get what I want to say typed out as quickly as I can. Before my thought process evaporates and my creativity reabsorbs into the recesses of my grey matter.

That said, I’m self-aware. There are few co-morbidities that affect my writing:

  1. I’m blessed [cursed?] with a wicked sense of humor. I constantly have to swat it back to stick to any storyline.
  2. I love graphics and visual layout as much as I love writing, so I quickly get off track with illustrations while composing.
  3. Then there’s that music thing; I can find a song or lyrics for every occasion or topic, so don’t even get me started on that one. I generally edit out more than I put in.

In other words, I have a hard time staying in one lane creatively.

I get inspired. I start writing furiously, and then [squirrel!], I get another idea. I then have to stop and find just the right graphic — or write the new idea down — lest I forget.

Often, before I’m finished with that task, [squirrel!], I notice that my paragraphs look blocky and text-intensive, so [squirrel], I start messing around with paragraph division, headlines, and pull quotes. Then [squirrel!] I start perusing stock photos.

It’s about that time that I lose my inspiration train and file what I was writing as a draft.

Not For Prime Time, But Who Cares?

I’ll dial my runaway dialogue back for a minute to try to end this post. If I had to be serious, I’d have to say that The Real Me can be summed up in the song ‘Mr. Tanner’ that Harry Chapin wrote back in 1973. I doubt that too many folks today have heard of Harry Chapin — or this song.

The piece tells the story of a man, Mr. Tanner who is a dry cleaner by trade, yet music and singing is his life’s passion.

The lyrics artfully paint mental imagery of him happily singing to himself while cleaning clothes during the day and then again singing with all his heart after the shop is closed for the night.

His friends and neighbors encourage him to try to make singing his livelihood. He caves to their insistence and decides to try his hand at making music a full-time endeavor. Sadly, he is less than well-received by his Hall Of Critics.

After his anti-climatic debut, he placidly returns to where he started: back to being a lowly dry cleaner — content that whether anyone else ever applauds him or not — he knows that he enjoys his passion.


If you happen to be one of few people on planet Earth not running Mach 1 with your hair on fire — in other words, if you can live on the edge and squander a few minutes of time— please listen to Harry Chapin’s song (below).

In a nutshell, his song is a more eloquent and concise portrayal of who I am than I could ever write.

As you listen, change the word ‘singing’ to ‘writing.’

That’s who I am … why I am here writing and storytelling … and why I am not clamoring for views for the $$ Partner Program.

She doesn’t care how well she writes. It. Just. Makes. Her. Whole.

Back to humor and irony again: Pay attention to the critics’ spoken-word dialogue in this song. Remind you of anything or anyone in the writing arena? Just sayin’ LOL



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Taylor-Grace Davidson

Taylor-Grace Davidson

Invert. Always Invert. Flip problems upside down & address them backward. Avoiding stupidity IS better than seeking brilliance.