For whatever reason,

several people have suggested that I write a mystery. My mom in particular.

“Why don’t you write something with people in it? Why does everything you do have to be so weird?”

LOL

‘Cause I am weird, Mom. Happily weird.

Mysteries as a genre have never really interested me.

I’ve tried. I remember reading an Agatha Christie long ago. As well as a few others I don’t recall. But they just didn’t excite me. Draw me in. I like to be TRANSPORTED when I read. Stretch my mind and FEEL.

That must be why I love magical realism, fantasy, and children’s books. The author Jamaica Kincaid comes to mind. And her collection of short stories: “At the Bottom of the River.” Beautiful. Lyrical. Transportive.

I gave a book to my mom sometime last year that the Kaua‘i Chicklit bookclub read; it was heaped in magical realism.

“That is definitely not my choice of reading material. I hope you read other books more logical. Try some of Shakespeare’s works.”

Yes, we all have different tastes, and I think she was truly trying to be helpful. But . . . as I’ve learned what is best for me to do, I politely ignored her.

Her suggestion was made months and months ago, but it obviously still hasn’t left her because just last week out-of-the-blue she said:

“I don’t know what to do with that weird book you gave me, that bookclub one. I guess I’ll just give it back to you.”

* * * * *

My mother is one of my greatest teachers.

No, she doesn’t give me hugs or tell me that things will be alright.

She neither praises nor encourages me.

Her lack of support IS her support. The teacher I’ve had all my life. And this teacher has shown me time and time again that whatever I need is either already within me

Or in some seemingly random situation that will steer me in the “right” direction.

I put right in quotes because I’ve come to realize that there really is no right or wrong. But rather whatever is best in any particular moment.

For we are always being guided.

Always being steered down the best path (for each one of us).

Even when it doesn’t feel like it.

* * * * *

So as I sit here with a blank piece of paper and think about who the characters will be in my next book, I LOVE the mystery of not knowing.

The mystery of DISCOVERY.

TRUSTING that it will unfold . . .

IS unfolding in the most perfect and WEIRD manner that is my way.

My style.

My life and path.

Me.

* * * * *

Yes.

I LOVE the mystery in THAT.

;-)

xoxox Sj xoxox