At first glance, this middle-aged mother-of-three divorcee may seem a little ordinary.
But like the humble onion, I can make your eyes water when I peel the layers away.
Don’t be alarmed though, dear writers, my intention is not to horrify. It’s merely to make you teary-eyed with satisfaction for being exactly, unapologetically, no more, no less, proudly, and uniquely, you.
My Voice, My Muses
Of course, every artist is influence by someone. Just like Donny and Marie were a little bit of country and a little bit of rock n roll, I’m a little bit of every book I’ve ever read. But to find my very own writer’s voice, I’ve had to also embrace my own unique quirks. My corny, naïve, nerdy, quirks, and expose them. To develop an authentic voice, I came out from under the radar and blew a party horn of all that is me for everyone to hear, read and see. It’s taken some courage. For I can be sickly sweet, painfully awkward, and strangely colourful. I’m not a smooth, melt-in-your-mouth, everyone’s favourite, chocolate cake. I’m a meringue. God made me a meringue.
My Perspective
But writing from this perspective also has its audience. Just like living openly as a meringue has its benefits. Each time I show myself, I encourage others to show themselves too. At work as a teacher, students who are as sickly sweet and painfully awkward as me, thank me, connect with me, are encouraged by me. My readers are too. I have an obligation to be me in my words and in my life.
A version of this article was first published in the October 2009 edition of Victoria University’s ‘Platform’. I realised then that being me has an audience. My article elicited a reaction from not only my fellow nerdy peers but also lecturers and tutors who overnight knew my name – because my name now meant freedom.
Sure, it would be easier to be subtle shortbread or rich and popular chocolate cake. But we have enough of them – the world needs variety.
That’s why, to all the meringues out there I say, don’t sugar coat who you are. Write and live as your sweet selves.