I’m a Babe!

I can honestly say I’ve never uttered that sentence before.   Probably I should amend that declaration to “I’m a Babe in Bookland” lest people think I’m full of myself.  And believe you me, I’ll be spreading the word.  This is a fabulous group blog brimming with talented, smart, and really nice ladies and I am enormously happy to be here. Waving to my fellow Babes and their loyal readers!  Helloooo! 

It was suggested that I use my premiere post to introduce myself. I’m thinking “Hello. My name is Beth Ciotta and I write for Medallion Press and HQN Books.” won’t cut it. But I also don’t want to bore you with a bio-like post.  You can always read ‘about me’ on my website. www.bethciotta.com  So I had this crazy idea of sharing an essay with you. An edited version of something I wrote off the cuff several years ago, but that still holds true today.  It’s ‘about me’ so I’m thinking it counts. If you get bored, please feel free to skip over to my website to my bio page. Okay. Here we go. (And I promise my upcoming posts will be MUCH shorter!)

Creative People –A Breed Apart

Have you ever felt like a unicorn in a herd of horses?  You know.  Different?  I knew I was different when I was five years old. Nobody told me. I just knew. I remember swinging on a swing on a rope tire in my backyard singing Petula Clark’s Downtown at the top of my lungs.  Not London Bridge.  Not Farmer in the Dell.  Downtown.  First clue. Different.  I knew, someday, I’d be a professional singer.

When I was ten I wrote my first ‘book’ – The Littlest Green Man.  No, he wasn’t a seasick elf.  He was a Martian. I don’t remember the details of the one-hundred page, handwritten tale, but I do remember that he was an imaginative alien living amongst boring earthlings. Stranded on this planet, he felt out of place. Misunderstood. Different.  I knew, someday, I’d be a professional writer.

I discovered the theater at sweet sixteen.  Ah, the smell of the grease paint, the sound of applause, the fear of forgetting lines and the joy of nailing a performance.  Instead of hanging out at the roller rink, I hung out backstage.  Instead of learning to drive, I learned to cry on cue.  My classmates called me weird.  Strange.  Different.  I knew, someday, I’d be a professional actress. 

As fate would have it, I grew up to become all three: A singer, a writer, an actress, and, just because the opportunity presented itself: A choreographer, a director, a publicist and a library assistant.  Can you say career crisis?  I cringe when people ask me what I do for a living.  I’d like to say, “I’m a creative person” and leave it at that.  Only that might garner blank stares.  Grounded, sane people say things like, “When I grow up, I want to be a doctor.”  Or a teacher.  Or an astronaut.  Not, “I want to be a creative person.”

That’s because you don’t become a creative person.  You’re born a creative person.  And I’m here to tell you, creative people are different.  We’re insecure.  We’re egotistical.  We’re realists.  We’re dreamers. Some of us yearn to be in the spotlight while others shy away from it. Yet we all crave approval and fear rejection. We all experience an orgasmic high when we receive a standing ovation or a respected award celebrating our creation. We’re all uniquely complex.  And of course we think no one understands us.  Except for other creative people.

A friend once relayed to me a theory I hold close to my heart.  Her psychic (did I mention we’re open minded?) suggested we, the creative people of this world, originated from another planet and were sent here long ago to enrich and entertain the logical, sane populace. She suggested we unconsciously spend our lives seeking out our own kind. A wacky theory, I admit. But I like it. Then again, I like being a unicorn. We’re a rare breed. A breed apart.

* * *

Okay. So one of two things just happened. I either scared the bejeebers out of my fellow Babes  (Hey, who invited this nut on board?), or I affirmed their decision to invite me into the fold.

As to you, wondrous readers, have you ever felt like a unicorn?