The Goddess Speaks
The Goddess Speaks
One of the perks to being a Goddess is having people worship and adore you. Unfortunately, my real world is quite different. It's just amazing how many things I can get wrong. At times when criticism is flying fast and furious, being a writer comes in very handy. An imagination has
merits and shortcomingsWhen I'm writing a story, I have the power to create an entire world where I control the thoughts, feelings and actions of all its inhabitants. In fact, using writing as an emotional outlet has probably helped me avoid psychotherapy.
The bad news is that I'm still at the stage of my career where rejections far outweigh acceptances. Most publishers have no problem finding all sorts of things wrong with my precious creations.
To make sure I don't sink too far into depression when yet another one of my manuscripts is turned down, I force myself to exercise. And so, one day I was drowning my sorrows in an afternoon walk when, up ahead of me, I spotted a man. As I got closer, I noticed he wasn't wearing a shirt, his shoes and shorts looked shabby, his hair was wild, his gait stumbling.
He was walking a bit slower than me, so it wouldn't be long before I'd catch up to him. I had to decide if he was safe or if I should change my direction to avoid him. So, I watched some more. He wasn't talking to himself, he was thin, and there were no offensive odors trailing back to me.
What would this obviously disheveled man be doing walking or wandering around a perfectly nice neighborhood in the middle of the afternoon?
To be dressed, or undressed, as he was, he had to be financially destitute at best -- homeless at worst. His awkward steps indicated he was either a drunk or some kind of drug addict. And, I was getting closer and closer.
I could now tell that his hair was thinning and white. I guessed he was around 70 years old. Even in my flabby condition, I could take him down if I had to. Plus, he wouldn't dare try something in a residential area on a bright and sunny afternoon. Too many witnesses.
So, I said a neutral "Hello," as I passed. To my surprise, he not only gave an articulate reply, but also engaged me in conversation. I walked by his side for the next 45 minutes.
Turned out his name is "Howard." He had recently retired from a law practice where he was beloved by clients and staff alike. He spoke fluent Italian and was an officer in an Italian club. He was a connoisseur of fine wines and opera. He loved to travel. He and his wife live in a beautiful house near mine. I learned a lot about the overachiever sons and daughters he was helping to put through college.
So much for my powers of observation. My psychic abilities had let me down, too. I couldn't have been more wrong about him.
Whether it's being a writer or having an overactive imagination, I see stories everywhere. Even though I had completely misjudged the man walking ahead of me, I came away with two great ideas. The true story about Howard is much more interesting than my fear of a mysterious homeless drug addict prowling around a prestigious neighborhood. Or is it? It all depends on how I write the story.
And in my stories, I'm always right.
Michelle Calabro Hubbard's first book, "Sour Notes,"
is about a local girl who goes to drastic measures to lose
weight only to accept herself just the way she is.
The Goddess Speaks runs every Tuesday
and is a column by and about women, our strengths, weaknesses,
quirks and quandaries. If you have something to say, write it and
send it to: The Goddess Speaks, the Honolulu Star-Bulletin, P.O.
Box 3080, Honolulu, 96802, or send e-mail
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