I am a writer, painter, photographer and videographer.
My name is Rosalyn Stevenson.
I have 74 aliases…..I mean pseudonyms (though most are unused).
I am a scribbler on canvas, papyrus and digital screens. I am a circus high flyer though some with little imagination and less kindness call me a con woman, cat woman or conjurer of pains, mostly in the neck.
I escaped big city life in San Diego by hooking up with a band of gypsies in Portland, Oregon, after an arduous trek on foot along the California coastline with only a backpack full of edible plant seeds and a camouflage bedroll.
The gypsies said I asked too many questions and left me in the desert of Arizona, where a pack of wild dogs kindly escorted me to the border of New Mexico.
A combination of Kismet and happenstance brought me to the door of a wise old woman who lived alone in an abandoned adobe shack. She took one look at my face and said, “Keep going. Go to the land of the noisy water, where you will find a newspaper that might take you in for a while. I hear they let free loaders sleep on their floor if they know how to write a bit. Now get out of here, quickly!”
So onward I trudged and here I am after many hair raising experiences.
I am here to put some tequila in your chili and create general mayhem.
A woman I know who read one of my columns once said: “Your so called tequila in the chili sometimes tastes more like chilled California Chablis.” I watched as she staggered off. I found her on the patio in deep conversation with a tall Philodendron plant. Chilled Chablis, huh? Hah!
