Neighborly Interest

Posted on July 9, 2002 in Neighborhood Writing

A neighbor, who is moving out of the neighborhood in the near future, stopped to ask me what I did for a living. Keeping to what I call “Judy’s program” (after my writing teacher and friend Judy Reeves), I identified myself as a writer. “What kind of books have you written?” came the dreaded first question. I explained that I didn’t write books. I wrote websites. “I don’t write pornography,” I assured her, as her toddler son struggled to keep with his plastic trike. “That’s good.” I started to try to make my break. I hate the question, you see, even when people are asking it out of genuine interest and curiosity. I half like my shell of anonymity among the neighbors. What would they make of the discussions of the chat room disputes, my takes on contemporary politics, my mystical forays into the zoo, my thinking about photography, my rants, my love of absurd web sites, my expressions of uncertainty? Would they try to cure me?

One hopes that the writing would attract people who truly liked me, admired me, wanted to support my struggle. So I must, I dare say, continue to allow people to know where to find it when they ask the next obvious question. I will find out who my friends are if I allow them to find out what I am. Maybe there are a few in the neighborhood, too. Maybe my variety of candor will shock this one and the people she mentions it to. Maybe my honesty will turn out to be my worst quality, once again. Or my best.