What I Learned From the Gravel Embedded In My Knee

I learned to tie my shoes.
I learned to whistle.
I learned to drive a car, even though I had to take the driver's test three times.
I learned to read and never stopped.
I don't need training wheels on my bike, I learned to ride it.  (Or do you need them again when you haven't been on a bike in a decade or two or three?)

I learned to type and text and not talk back to the GPS.

THEREFORE: I can master all the web stuff I need to do to look like a professional writer!!!!!!

Can't I?

David Clapp, my clever son,  has it mastered. He showed me some nifty ways to make my one-sheet look beautiful.  He promised to help me do an author face book page, to learn to twitter, and to look like an all around professional author.

 But here's the thing:
 
When I was a kid in Clarion, I had a friend named Cathy Stewart.  She lived at the end of of a block that went down a hill and into some really deep pot holes before the pavement turned the corner to become Barber Street. 

One day we were sitting in her yard on our bikes. She said, "Oh, no, you can't ride your bike around all those pot holes. Only people who live on this street and know how to do it."

Well guess what I did?  Your darn tootin'!  I jumped on my bike rode down the hill and crashed into a really deep pot hole. I still have gravel in my knee to prove it. Stop by and I'll show you.

So now I think I just might listen to my  intelligent and handsome son, David Clapp.  I don't know what the electronic or website equivalent of gravel embedded in your knee is. And I don't think I want to find out.