In one way, it’s kind of like the comment, you’re exactly/just like your mother! I love my mother, I admire her greatly, but I am not just like her. Similar, yes, I’ll give you that, but exactly…well, no. I can’t help but be a product of my upbringing. That’s simply nature at work. I look a lot like her, sound a lot like her and have certain aspects of her character, but I am wholly me.
This is has slowly percolated through my mind since the comment made it’s way out into the ether. Should I be worried about the tag line the next Jenny Crusie?
Anyone who’s ever called the next something never is the next anything…The next Lennon & McCartney, the next Torville & Dean, the next Meryl Streep. There’s only ever going to be one of each of those people. It’s kind of unfair to to be held up against that kind of talent, and then in another way it’s intensely flattering.
But this isn’t about Little Mom. It’s about writing and being matched up against someone else’s talent. Don’t get me wrong. I think Ms Crusie is wonderful. I’ll embrace the comparison, yes indeedy I will, but right now, being unpublished and all, shouldn’t I be humble?
According to Jenny Crusie, no. I should be Mozart. Although, if truth be told, I prefer Grieg and Tschaikovsky
In that case, if given my choice who would I want to be the next version of?
Well, let’s take a look at me, shall we? Hmmm, yes, the backside is so very Barbara Stanwyck…