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My Next Big Goal

I’m going to be the next Erma Bombeck.

Huh? What do you mean, “Who’s Erma Bombeck?” Five days of detention to you for making me feel old! Erma Bombeck is one of the greatest female…oh, wait. Hold on.

Erma Bombeck died more than twenty years ago, at the age of sixty-nine.

Oh. I guess I am getting old.

A-hem, Erma Bombeck was one of the greatest female humor writers, popular through the 1960’s and ‘90s with both her newspaper column and her books. She may have possibly been the greatest female humor writer to date.

Until me.

Understand that I say that with the greatest of humility. And three weeks after having declared to my husband that I am going to launch a singing career via YouTube.

About which I have already changed my mind.

Wishy-washy much?

But, here’s the thing. I need to do something.

Besides blending up smoothies and picking worms off broccoli leaves, I mean.

And while I’m good at singing, even decent at coming up with song lyrics, I’m not that great at coming up with melodies. And to add instruments, I would have to use software like Band-In-A-Box, which would ultimately give me a headache because it requires a lot of looking at the computer screen.

I actually purchased the MegaPak of that software, which I am now planning to return as soon as it arrives. Maybe. I think.

Leastwise, I ain’t plannin’ to be the next Carrie Underwood no more. (Read in a Southern accent.)

On the other hand, writing requires little more from me than butt-in-chair time and a few interesting ideas. It comes easily to me, and either sending off an article to a magazine or self-publishing a book on Kindle does not take very much away from my “eye energy.”

It also does not require hours of practice, agonizing over whether I’m putting the right emotion in the right places and whether it will sound original enough. Not to mention whether anyone will even like my songs.

Not that everyone has always liked my books. Some people just have no taste.

Regardless, writing comes much more easily to me than creating songs. At least, non-fiction and short stories.

Don’t make me rehash my trials and tribulations with writing novels!

So, why humor? And who am I to even think that I could compete with the likes of the Great Erma Bombeck?

First answer: Because I’m tired of telling people how to live their lives. And I’m tired of being serious. I’ve been so serious that heart attacks see me coming and run away.

And at forty-seven years old, I’ve had a lot of experiences that I can now look back on and laugh.

You know, like that one time I thought I would become a pop singer in middle age.

Second answer: I’m not going to compete with Erma Bombeck. How can I compete with somebody who’s dead?

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