Tales...Whimsy of a Late Bloomer

Once upon a time near the shoreline of Connecticut, some 130+ miles from New York, there lived a small girl under the thumb of her father.  His hands were large indeed and they held on to the girl protectively, maybe more.  To escape his clutch and her sometimes unhappy upbringing, she escaped into a TV world full of families who laughed more than cried, a world where a girl could have friends and sleep overs, a world where a girl could have a boyfriend before her high school graduation, a world where a girl could find her fabulousness on her own.  Her world would one day change when she took a trip.  A trip where she did blossom, and find friendship, and love.  The once small and scared girl was on her way to a life set to her own rules, but that was taken away when death took the girl's father.  Life stopped.  But as the years moved forward, the girl appreciated the tight grip of safety in a way she couldn't when her father was alive.  The girl was lost.
Over time the girl began a new journey.  A journey of story telling.  Even if there is no book deal, its as close to heaven as she can get.  She is me.
I'm Jezrie.      
It's taken time to make it this far in my journey.  Time to dust myself off.  Time to understand myself post grief.
It's true I wasn't allowed friends as a child.  My father thought life would be better just having him and my mom and my kid sister as friends.  Pop culture became my friend as I immersed myself into the pretend worlds of the Huxtables, the Tanners, the Seavers.  I had Punky Power.  I thought I would be a better friend to Blossom Russo than Six.  If I ever grow up, I hope to have a column like Carrie Bradshaw.
I am a writer.  I'm obsessed with pop culture.  I breathe music, and movies are the best at teaching life lessons.  I love the era of writers where just uttering the word writer seemed to gather a crowd of interested souls.  Of course these days it seems anybody can be a writer with a good computer and fast internet.
These are the tales of a late bloomer on her way back to the life that appeared to stop.  Your welcome.