A Weekly Series of Riffs in 200 Words
I’m currently reading Larry King’s autobiography My Remarkable Journey and his passion and daring as a young man strike me as extraordinary.
All Larry ever wanted to do was to be on radio and watch baseball. In his passion for baseball, he’d round up his friends so early in the morning that they’d be heckling the officials to open the gates long before the game started.
And in his passion for radio he listened to it, practiced it and made his own luck by making himself the best choice available at any given time.
Larry’s passion inevitably morphed into television and braces (after a gambling detour courtesy of early successes and a truck-load of money) and there’s nothing lily-livered in his dedication to either.
I was passionate as a young person too. Fairly bursting with it. But I was passionate about too many things: boys, fashion, movies, popular music, shoes, parties, champagne…and the list goes on.
It seems only in the last decade or so that I have honed my skills enough to concentrate on the thing I truly love and my writing is all the better for it.
That’s why I often refer to myself as a late bloomer.
THE ANSWER TO FRIDAY’S FICTIONARY DICTIONARY… Sciamachy is a fight with an imaginary enemy.