One day, when I was maybe seven years old, my friend’s father was driving my friend and me to some place. I forget where. I was clearly having a good time talking when her father said to me “Cindy, you certainly are a very gabby girl.” That shut me up momentarily, but then I went about my happy chatter. When I got home and saw my mother, I told her what my friend’s dad said, and asked her what the word “gabby” meant. She told me it meant that I like to talk a lot. I asked her if she thought I was gabby, and she said “Yes”. Continue reading
At six years old, I was told I was “gabby.” I asked my mom what that meant. I scratched my head.
At college, a professor wrote that I was “too wordy.” What possibly could I cut out?
At 26, my husband said I talked too much. Why in the world?
At 32, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. A bipolar manic symptom is “talking too much, too fast.” Who, me?
At a certain online forum I was accused to suffer from “hypergraphia.” I laughed.
At the present time, I feel proud of myself, sending a writing sample required not to exceed 700 words. I cut it down from 1,200 words to 690.
This is my first attempt at minimal writing.