Posts Tagged With: Writers

To Be or Not To Be (or I Have No Shame in Ripping Off Shakespeare To Prove My Point)

Validation.  That’s the topic of my sermon today.

Around the beginning of the year I joined a self-publishing group with quite a collection of writers who are at various stages of their writing careers. Some have been published for 30+ years, some are on their first title. I’m really enjoying the good advice and information I’m getting through this group and it has been giving me a lot to think about as I make my journey through writing and that final question I’ll ask after I type that concluding “THE END” on my stories: “What do I do now?”

The answer comes with more questions than one might have had 20 years ago. Hell, more questions than one might have had 4 years ago. Self-publishing is finally coming out of the closet in a way. It’s no longer a dark and dirty word it used to be. In fact, many of the writers I lurk around (I don’t really have a lot of experience to share on that loop right now) seem to have the opinion that if they could do it all over again, they would have gotten into self-publishing a lot sooner in their careers. But unfortunately, the world simply didn’t have the resources and technology for writers back then that it does today. eBook and Print on Demand (POD) has opened the world to the written word that can barely even be measured anymore. Anyone can be a writer these days. Anyone can have a book for sale at Amazon. But in the end, what really resonated with me this week was a fellow writer who stated that she was ashamed to admit, but she still needed the validation of a publishing company to publish her book. It got me to thinking about what exactly validation is and why we still seek out this so called validation from others.

JulieGarwoodLetter

The letter Julie Garwood sent me when I was 16.

As many who follow my blog know, I started writing stories as a child, and finished my first 49K word novel by the time I was 17. I was destined to be a published writer and I knew that one day I would get there. In fact, when I was 16 I wrote a letter to my favorite author at the time, Julie Garwood, in which I told her that I hope to see my own books by hers at our local Waldenbooks someday (Waldenbooks has since gone out of business. Told you, this was the early nineties.) Surprisingly enough, Ms. Garwood wrote me back, stating, “Good luck! I hope to see your name on the bookshelves at Waldenbooks too.” I was ecstatic, and from that good luck wish, I saw clearly my life goal. That was the benchmark I set for myself as “validation”. To have my book on a bookstore bookshelf so not only Julie Garwood would see it, but my family, friends, people I went to school with, co-workers, etc, and so they would know without a doubt I was a “real writer”. And real writers have a big name publishing company publish their books.

After high school, nothing much happened with the manuscript I wrote, and it eventually made its way to dust collector as I started college (and eventually dropped out of college). I still wrote, but at this time I was writing fan fiction. Say what you will about fanfic, and I’ll most likely agree. But fanfiction provided something I never had before. Instant gratification and FEEDBACK. Not to mention, I produced some significant volume of words. One fanfic I wrote was 104k words. That’s nothing to turn one’s nose up at, but it still didn’t mean I was a “real writer”. I wasn’t yet validated. I still needed to share with the world my own characters and plots, and show the world my own shelf at the bookstore, which was now at Barnes & Noble, where I worked during that time.

By the age of 28 I went back to college, because that’s the only real “validation” most of society wants to see (but also because I wanted to). I had a great experience as a Creative Writing student and produced story after story. Validation abounded. I had professors praising my work and not laugh too hard when I mentioned I wanted to write genre specific novels. (Sometimes not the best news you want to give your hard and heavy Literary Fiction profs.) I had reached a certain level of validation, but it wasn’t the big one. I still wasn’t on a bookshelf, still not signed to a NY publisher. Still had nothing to show friends, family and…Julie Garwood.

Since graduation, I’ve gone on to publish all my short stories between various print mags, online mags, literary journals, university journals, anthologies and collections. I was perfectly well validated on a lot of personal levels, but leave it to family to deflate my ego like at super bowl football.

When I told my mom I was finally being published in a magazine, she asked with all seriousness, “Like Ladies Home Journal?” No, mom, not that. “Can I go to a store and by this magazine?” No, mom, but you can buy it online. The info didn’t compute. So, no surprise after my 16th publication and a couple of weeks from returning from last year’s RT conference where I was promoting an anthology, that I was introduced by my mom to distant relatives as “trying to be a writer”. Any validation I had, real or otherwise, felt more like a sudden sting. I was in a book, and it wasn’t the first one, but when a couple of relatives asked about what bookstores were carrying it, I had to say it’s available online. There’s an unmistakable look that comes across people’s faces when they realize that your version of successful doesn’t match their version of successful. They really want to be happy for you, but they can’t because THEY have to make an extra effort to understand what YOUR dreams and goals are.

JulieGarwoodCollection

Yes, kids, this is what books USED to look like.

So, here I am, apparently not meeting my family’s standards and still no closer to fulfilling my promise I made to Julie Garwood when I was a 16 year old. I needed to have a book on a bookshelf and the only way to do that is to get a publishing contract. After all, that’s what the last 4 years of my writing life has been about. I’m writing a monster onus in the hopes that a big publisher from New York recognizes me as the love child of Julie Garwood and George RR Martin and sign me to the biggest publishing contract on the planet with an HBO miniseries option.

And then I had an epiphany.

I spent many years turning my nose up at self-published books. Mainly because I had seen a few when they first came out and they were atrocious. I always held more pride in my craft and art than that. I was never going to go that route, because I thought I was better than that. But over the last year my mindset has dramatically changed. It’s hard to say exactly what the turning point was. I think a little bit of it came when I watched a fanfiction writer steal another writer’s work and make millions off it. All that validation I thought I needed, all those whispers in my head that I wasn’t a “real writer” unless a big time publisher published me vanished when I realized that I am in a whole different ballgame than I was 25 years ago. I want to be a writer, I want to be an author. I hope that doing so means I can pay some bills in order to have more time to write. But I don’t want to write based on what a publishing company or editor’s Magic 8 Ball is predicting to be the current trend. I know I’m a good writer. I’m not being cocky. It’s taken me 25 years, a writing degree, dozens of published stories and honest feedback from honest friends to build up the confidence to say that. I’m tired of seeking out validation, because something will ALWAYS come along that won’t be good enough for one person on the planet.  I have to change my frame of mind. We ALL have to change our frame of mind and recognize good writing regardless if a NY publisher (who’s probably roped a writer into a contract that has stripped him/her of their creative rights) has published them or not. Musicians self-produce all the time. Kevin Smith got into Cannes with a black and white film financed with a credit card. Why are writers made to feel worse if they don’t have a publishing contract? And is there really a difference anyway?

Oh yeah, writers who self-publish or even go with an independent publisher can’t get their books in Barnes & Noble and/or the you-name-it brick and mortar bookstores in the world. Many writers who have proven track records and monstrous sales who have gone the route of self-publishing for the creative freedom and extra income it provides can’t get their book on the shelves. And knowing such, I see I’m going to keep Ms. Garwood waiting for a while.

In the end, I want creative control over my work. I want my vision to be mine alone. If I fail, at least I know I failed with a story I wrote, not what an editor thinks my story should be based on their bottom line. I never, EVER want to give up the rights to my stories. Some 15 years ago I read Prince’s autobiography. His advice to the world is never give up your publishing rights. (Remember his SLAVE and TAFKAP period?) It always stuck with me. Never say we didn’t learn a thing or two from the little purple wonder.

Self-publishing is a scary thought. And I admit I’m still weighing my options. I’m more confident than I’ve ever been before and have no regrets going forward with it. I’m no longer seeking validation. I’m just going to write and go where the journey leads me and remember to have fun while I’m doing it.

Sláinte

Wendy

p.s. Don’t mistake my thoughts about publishing house editors as to say books don’t need editing. THEY ALL NEED EDITING. But just be sure you find an editor who works with you and your vision, not against your vision. Make sure that after your editor has given notes, your writing hasn’t morphed into their ideal book verses your ideal book. Remember, write the book YOU want to read. Don’t compromise your vision and art for anything less.

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The Writer’s Sandbox: The Best Place to Work, 2014.

Grandpa Ian and Grandpa Patrick

Grandpa Ian and Grandpa Patrick

I’ve been seeing a lot of pictures lately of Sir Ian McKellen and Sir Patrick Stewart touring around New York City as they end the Broadway tour of NO MAN’S LAND and WAITING FOR GODOT. If you haven’t see them, I dare you to Google them and not come away with a smile. The pictures are a testament to true friendship and a “never too old to have fun” philosophy. The pictures show a campy, comical and simply adorable friendship of two gentlemen as they pal around New York City striking silly poses, holding hands, and being typical goofballs, all while wearing bowler hats. Seeing the memories these man are creating makes me wish I was 8 years old and these good Sirs were my grandpas. I would have my hair in pigtails – naturally Grandpa Ian would be in control of my hair. I would be wearing a bright yellow summer dress with strappy, clacky sandals. We would all three hold hands as we stroll the boardwalk, stopping at every ring toss and ball throw, each grandpa promising to win me the biggest stuffed animal. They would buy me ice cream and cotton candy and argue over the fact if it’s safe for me to ride the pony – Grandpa Patrick approves, Grandpa Ian says no. We would ride the elephants on the carousel, get sick on the Ferris wheel and end the day walking into the sunset with my corndog and balloons. Ah, such a beautiful ending to a perfect day.

Then, alas, reality kicks in (or the alcohol wears off, take your pick) and I’m a little sad knowing it will never happen. Despite that, these two men are hopefully inspiring future generations of friends to remember even in old age, cherish your friends and the moments your make together, take time for fun, don’t take yourselves too seriously, always allow time for a silly pose, hold hands and love your friends! You might not get the chance to do it again. Oh, and always make time for a silly hat.

Fantasy is a writer’s sand box. It’s the safest place we play, come up with ideas, think without criticism, let our minds wander free without a care, knowing that what we create can be both scary as well as silly. No one can come into your sandbox without permission. That’s the best part about it. Try as they might, outsiders try to get in and they show horrible jealousy when they are denied. It’s unfathomable for those who are lucky enough to have writers in their life that a place exists of complete imagination and writers are actually HAPPY there. I remember as a child listening to my English teacher explaining the meaning of introvert and extrovert. While the general definition of extrovert was outgoing, happy, popular and fun to be around, the next explanation of introvert was horrible by comparison. Introverts don’t like others. Introverts are loners. Introverts aren’t comfortable around others. Introverts aren’t popular. Introverts are losers. Okay, so perhaps the teacher never said “loser” but she might as well have because my interpretation and the others’ in the class pretty much fell in line with that characterization. Thereafter, I came away with the notion that I didn’t want to be an introvert because I would never be popular, despite the fact I secretly hated to be around others, would rather have stayed in the back of the class unnoticed, would rather have a book than the most popular in school award, was content scribbling in my notebook, and was happier with my 5 closest friends than going to a party of John Hughes proportions. It was the 80’s afterall.Ian-and-Patrick-11

But then, it followed me into the 90’s and beyond. Whenever I took personality quizzes in college I faked my answers. When I took personality assessments for jobs interviews, I knew how to answer so that I would seem like an extrovert. Many companies want employees who are outgoing, team players, work well with others and possess those can-do attitudes. Afterall, why else do they want to know what fraternities and organizations you joined while in college? What do you mean you didn’t join clubs? Do you not like others? I’ve had to hide the answer many times simply because I wanted a job. Despite wanting the most creative workforce imaginable, being comfortable enough to work completely alone was not really what they sought for in an applicant. I became pretty good at lying for 15 years about my true personality. Truth is, I hate working with others. Sure, I’ve had some great coworkers in the past, but it’s the others who I couldn’t stand. Every office has them: the mixers, the gossipers, the backstabbers, the ass-kissers, the nosey-Rosys, the liars, the micromanagers, and the ones I really hate – the cheerleaders. You know those, the ones who will promote every initiative that’s handed down from management as the next greatest business and management tactic while everyone can see the pure illegality and unethicalness of it. There is nothing worse than working for a company you hate for lack of morals and ethics. That’s where pretending to be an extrovert finally got to me.

So, I quit. I don’t lie about it anymore. I like being in my space. I like not having 20 co-workers to greet every day. I like having my safe space to work in and be as creative as I want to be. I like texting with my friends in other states than making friends in the office. I like spending my lunch time with writing than going to team lunches, and analyzing business plans and talking about how I plan to make a difference in the company. I like knowing that if my personality clashes with another that it’s not going to end in writing an action plan about how to be a better team player. I quit the bullshit. And if an introvert can tell an extrovert the true meaning to happiness, it’s that we don’t have time for the bullshit.

And I’ve never been happier in my life.

 

Down In The Dirt magazine

Down In The Dirt magazine

How does this lead to the bones of my newest update? It doesn’t really other than it ties to the fact that since quitting my job I’ve been steadily publishing short stories. The offices of Wendy C. Williford are happy to announce the release of my 10th publication! This month I have a short story, Atonement featured in Down in The Dirt magazine. Again, I wrote it several years ago but still another one I’m fond of. I’ll be celebrating in the kitchen with cake and wine. Leftover donuts will be in the break room for the remainder of the day. The management would like to remind you to keep the cheers down, as others are still working. If you wish to take an early celebratory lunch, you have my permission, but it’s on your own dime. Before you leave today, be sure to fill out the survey with expertly worded questions that will prove we are the best place to work in the city. After all, your success makes us successful. We appreciate all you do. Be sure to approve your time clocks at the end of the day.

 

So check it out, or purchase a copy of Down In The Dirt magazine via Createspace. Support the underpaid writers in your life. It takes a lot to fill up the sandbox (and the wine cabinet).

Cheers and Sláinte!

Wendy

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Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

What else can I say other than cheers and Sláinte on this magical day that marries together all things Irish and all things drinking. Here are a few little facts that you might not know. These are random facts I found on either Facebook or some other obscure place on the interwebs, so forgive that I don’t quote a source. They’re just fun, silly “facts”.

Me in Ireland, 2012.

Me in Ireland, 2012.


• St. Patrick was not Irish.
• There are more Irish-American’s living in the U.S. than there are Irish currently in Ireland.
• St. Patrick died on this day, so we are celebrating the day he was brutally murdered.
• St. Patrick was originally associated with the color blue.
• The odds of finding a four-leaf clover is about 1:10,000.
• The Irish didn’t freely start drinking to celebrate the day until 1970 because it was a day of religious observance, so the pubs were shut down.
• Wendy needs to get back to writing.

So, until then, Sláinte and Erin Go Bragh to all my fellow Irish-Americans out there and have a great day!

Wendy

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Inspiration is The Key

Today I sat in a doctor’s office trying to fight off the newest little bug I’ve caught in the never ending cycle of hot and cold weather that has been known as Winter 2014. While I can certainly feel sympathy for my friends in the north who have had never-ending low record temps, snow, blizzards, more snow and more cold, I’m sure it can be as frustrating as experiencing business closing snow flurries on Monday and by Thursday running the air conditioner again because the heat and humidity inside has raised to a uncomfortable 85 degrees. Along east Texas and the gulf coast region we literally experience all 4 seasons in the same week. It’s a clever joke that been meme’ing all over Facebook and your favorite social media site for the last 8 weeks, but there is a lot of truth behind it. And while in Texas, you can joke that if you don’t like the weather, wait a minute, it will change, the harsh reality is that while you’re waiting, the extreme changes in the weather is playing havoc with your immune system. Thus, we set our scene in my doctor’s office this morning and my receiving a 3rd prescription of antibiotics since the beginning of the new year.
Inspiration

While waiting for my doctor to come in so I can announce my clever self-diagnosis (once you have one upper respiratory infection, you pretty much know every time you get one), I notice a new poster on the wall sponsored by the latest/greatest anti-allergy medication diagraming the parts of the head: the nose, the ears, and the throat. One thing that caught my attention was the diagram of the Larynx. One part of the picture described the larynx as the “Inspiration” and the other as “Phonation”. As I sat there examining the picture regarding the “Inspiration” I couldn’t help but wonder why that word was used in relation to the throat. A google search later, I come to the definition in accordance to this example as inspiration being synonymous with inhalation, or the movement of air into the lungs. To breathe is to inspire. What a truly amazing thought. A few deep thoughts later, I come to thinking about perhaps the best result of moving air into the lungs – and subsequently moving it back out – and that is song. Music. Making music with your mouth. Birds have been doing it since the creation. The first human instrument was the mouth, creating a song with nothing but pursing one’s lips together in order to imitate the songbirds. Next came wind instruments, which inspired the need for more instruments until we created the plethora of percussion, brass, and string instruments and everything in between. What a glorious inspiration music is. And what this world has created simply out of the inspiration of music in itself is to feel nothing short of an overwhelming awe-inspiring shudder that shakes me to the core.

Music has always had a strange effect on me. Sometimes a well-placed song at the right moment when my soul really needs a lift, a song can give me the same exhilarating feeling as being in love. It moves me, affects my soul. It inspires me to create and create the best art my soul is capable of. Sometimes it’s nothing but an instrumental, sometimes it’s a complexity of sound and voice that I often find in Queen, The Beatles, Zeppelin or The Who. And it’s just not the rock gods of the 70’s and 80’s who move me. (Although they are the best). Contemporary artists can do the same. Gaga is one, for all her over the top theatrics and showy-showy camp style, she can sing, and she can write great music. And great music, true talent inspires other true talent.

As I’m fighting off this latest illness, it’s sometimes hard to even get out of bed and place myself in front of a computer with enough wit and motivation to be creative. When I have to take to my bed, and in those moments before Nyquil takes over, I send my thoughts into the deep recesses of my mind to commune with my muse and work out the already plotted ideas that are waiting in the vault. I’m sure every writer has that vault: a place in your head that houses the most creative ideas, patiently waiting, gestating until the moment they are either born on paper, sound or medium. It’s the ideas that you don’t have to write down because they are so powerful that you’ll never forget them. They live simply because your brain created them and they don’t have to exist on the outside just yet to be real. They breathe. They inhale. They inspire.

Despite being sick, I am still using this time to create. I’m back to dictating the chapters I wrote during the late fall. Hopefully I can wrap up the editing in the next month and get on to the next chapters. I have roughly 20+ more to finish the book. Sounds huge, and while it is, I see the end a little more clearly. I just need to keep the inspiration coming. I need to keep my ear open to the music that inspires me and creates that euphoric feeling which wills my hand to pick up the pen and put brain cells on paper.

So, what exactly might that be? What is the key of inspiration? As our fairy godmother might say: C Minor, darling. Put it in C Minor.

Sláinte,

Wendy

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To Post or Not To Post (Does it get anymore cliché than that?)

When I decided to become a blogger, I told myself I would use it sparingly. You know, no more than a couple of posts a month.  You see, I’ve been known to overdo it from time to time on Facebook.  I’ve literally been with Facebook since Mark Zuckerberg and Sean Parker plotted to put it in every college campus within 150 miles of Texas’ big universities.  At the time, it was a novel new fad, one that my archaeology group decided to use to inform others of archaeology group meetings and lab times.  Those were the simple days, when only college students could join, before corporations started hawking their ads and targeting your likes and dislikes, and long before high school kids were able to join, thus making me painfully aware of the spelling and grammatical issues plaguing teenagers today.    I’ve gone through every incarnation known to Facebook, and along with every change, I’ve dreadfully accepted it, knowing each change would dramatically add to my procrastination schedule.  Believe me, it’s full.  But surprisingly enough, never full enough for whatever new app, game, or new and improved whatever flavor of the day.  And stupid me, knowing full well what I’m getting myself in, will post about it, comment, like, unlike, post a pic, post a video, check out the game or block the game, agree or disagree with the political rantings (of which there are MANY the last 2 days), hide certain people for said political rantings, block people who post pics of dead babies and animals, laugh at memes, repost memes, make a few memes, and react in horror at highly inappropriate memes while I secretly laugh inside, then start the cycle anew the next hour.  Yes, I have a slight Facebook addiction.

And because of that, I swore I wouldn’t overpost on my blog.  I tell you all that to tell you this.  I’m making a new post, barely 24 hours after my last post.  Why?  Because I had two stories come out yesterday.  Just when I didn’t think I could get excited enough about my story, “The Grace of None, Save One” being featured at the Wordsmith Journal Magazine, I received an email from Gravel Magazine, the MFA journal of the University of Arkansas Monticello, informing me they would be posting a non-fic piece that day.  I received the acceptance letter last month, but at the time the journal didn’t know when they would post it.  I didn’t think of it as a big deal since I had another story coming out on Oct. 1st.  But come to find out, I had a two-fer yesterday and that was just a glorious feeling!  I’m quite sure I made about 10 posts on Facebook yesterday about the new publications.  And being that I’m running two blogs now (http://octoberwineandwrite.wordpress.com/), everyone on Facebook, Twitter, Google +, etc. are getting double doses of my postings.  I’m not sure if it’s becoming annoying yet.  Believe me, I find nothing more annoying than people who literally post 20 videos in a row on Facebook, or 30 about cats.  I don’t want to be one of those people.  I remember comedian Bernie Mac once discussed the merits in the entertainment business of “always leave them wanting more”.  I really like that philosophy and personally use it.  And as Oscar Wilde so eloquently put it, “There is only one thing in life worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about.”  If I had to accomplish two things at this stage in my journey, it’s to leave you wanting more and to keep the good chatter going for a little while longer.

So check out my newest non-fiction story, “Toward The Light” at Gravel Magazine.  And a big thank you to my friends and all who follow me on this awesome journey.

 

Wendy

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Variety: The Spice of Life

I started off today’s blog entry by spending nearly 10 minutes looking for silly memes about variety being the spice of life.  I have major focus problems at times.  I’m not sure if it’s because I woke up this morning at 6:45am and decided I needed to get a head start on my blogging, my coffee is kicking in, the homemade egg white and avocado sandwich I just ate has my tummy so full that I just want to veg in my computer chair and look at weird things on Google while I digest, or I’m just really that much of a procrastinator.  It’s a flaw. It’s a mystery.  It’s who I am.  Either way, I finally got my word doc open and am hoping to deliver a thoughtful, well written and witty morning blog.  One can hope.

It goes without saying that variety is essential to the life of a writer.  One must always push one’s limits, try new methods, new perspectives, always keep honing one’s craft.  When I was a teenager, I had the idea that once you started writing, you had to stick with the genre you began in.  After all, when I looked at the writers who were popular during my teen years, book reviews and adverts were pretty clear that Stephen King was the master of horror, John Grisham was the master of lawyer suspense drama, Danielle Steel was the master of romance and Judy Blume was the master of children and young adult lit.  They never really changed.  At least, I didn’t perceive them as changing.  And I was destined to be a master.  By the time I was 18, I thought I understood what writers and the publishing world did.  I was wrong.  I had a typical teenage  view of books and the personal repertoire of books I had read and books/authors I wanted to read was minute.  Tiny.  Pequeño.   Yet, as I grew, as I read, as I approached my mid-twenties, I realized how naïve I really was when it came to writers.  By the time I started working at Barnes & Noble, the real world of books exploded on me.  I became familiar with more authors, more genres, fiction vs. non-fiction, biographies, humor, romance, sci-fi/fantasy, and literary fiction vs. everything else.  And more shockingly than anything, I began to realize that authors crossed over.  Stephen King actually wrote non-horror.  Julie Garwood started writing contemporary.  Anne Rice wrote about more than vampires?  And she used a different name?  Hold a tick, so did Stephen King? What is this craziness all about?

The Spice Must Flow

The Spice Must Flow

Pigeonholing an author is probably the worst thing one can do and is something I’ve often done.  I don’t do it intentionally, but it happens sometimes.  I don’t think it had anything to do with my favorite author stepping away from their comfort zone, but there were certain styles and genres that I liked and I stuck with them for quite a while.  Fortunately, as a student of creative writing, I had to get out of that comfort zone and read stories I was unfamiliar with, genres I would have never picked up on a random day at Barnes & Noble, writing styles I would have thought of as foreign 10 years ago, and authors I might have ignored because the book cover was plain or didn’t “speak to me”.  I held a lot of strange beliefs when I was younger about writers and what they were meant to do and I realize now it was a bit detrimental to my growth as an author.

I say all this because while in school, I not only stepped out of my reading comfort zone, but also my writing comfort zone.  I experimented with styles.  I experimented with genres.  I shucked the shell of what my fellow students might have thought of as weird, taboo and not popular.  I wrote the typical funny stories, I wrote characters that were young, college types, hip, rebellious, whatever I thought my fellow work shoppers might find good and cause them the least discomfort.  That changed dramatically my last semester when I decided I wanted to push a personal envelope and write a story with an unusual POV (first person plural) and I went further in writing a story about religion.  It came with its due amount of fear.  One being, I hate people who proselytize to me because they perceive my religious beliefs as different from theirs.  Granted, they probably are, but they are surprisingly similar.  I was raised in the American south in a southern Baptist family.  It’s not a far leap to guess what my religious upbringing was like and what beliefs and doctrines I still carry today.  But they are still different and more than anything, personal.  So I don’t proselytize to others.  It’s a courtesy thing.  So writing a religious story made me nervous.  Having others read a religious story made me nervous, because the story isn’t so much based on proselytizing, it’s based on a speculative view of human nature.  Its base was a human story about one of the most famous events in human history.    I really wondered if my fellow student of differing religious upbringings (or lack thereof) could read it objectively and give me good feedback on the form, the craft, the new style of POV I was attempting and not get their panties in a bunch that I dared to write a religion story and present it to a state college classroom.  It was tricky, but I did it.  Not only did everyone give me good feedback, I didn’t have any students chastise me for “forcing” a religious piece on them.  I hate that I live in a world where people are afraid to speak of religion.  I’m fascinated by religion.  It’s history, after all.  And all I can say is if you don’t want to live your life based on religion, at least live your life based on what history has taught us.  It comes back; sometimes with a vengeance.

Forgive the early morning rambling.  I seriously only wanted to post a little blurb about the new story I have published today, “The Grace of None, Save One” featured in the October 2013 edition of The Wordsmith Journal Magazine.  I was happy when this one got picked up, wondering for months if it would be unpublishable in typical literary markets. (the amount of rejections was staggering.)  In the end, I submitted it to a religious based magazine and was happy when I was informed it was picked up,  (with another publishing contract.  Publishing contracts always make it feel more official).  I hope everyone enjoys it as a well-crafted and thoughtful story.  As my personal repertoire of readings has grown over the years, so does my list of publications.  None can begrudge me of that.

Wendy

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