What the Hell just happened?
I've been writing all my life. Even before I could write, I was writing stories in my head when I was playing. If I was playing with Hot Wheels, their was always something interesting that had to be said about the cars, the track or the race itself. Lincoln Logs and Legos had there own stories to be told. There was always something more there than just the toy.
I've always wanted to write, but more importantly I wanted to "be a writer." To me there is a world of difference between the two and for the longest time I thought "being a writer" was about being good enough to get paid for it. I've written pretty much in every form, from poetry to screenplays, novels to short stories.
And most of it was trash. Nothing a "Writer" would create.
Upon careful reflection the most valuable lesson I learned about writing was when I was a publisher myself and had to read through the unsolicited submissions. The magazine essentially published science fiction shorts and poetry. We called it Speculative Fiction to sound, well, I'm not sure what we wanted to sound like. I do know the capital letters were important.
There were several things I learned about magazine publishing and writing in addition to "What's the fastest way to loose $5,000?"
- Everyone has a story to tell.
- You are the perfect venue for that story, even if your guidelines specifically state you do not accept sexually explicit anthropomorphic fantasy. Their story will be the exception to the rule.
- There are more writers than readers.
- Every writer knows everything about your magazine despite having never read it.
- Always give specific instructions to printers when shipping artwork.
- Paper is more expensive than gold and it would be less expensive to blow it to the Moon than mail it.
Other than that, it was the most rewarding experience of my life.
After reading nearly everything that came though the mail slot, I learned something very important about my own writing. Boy, did I write a lot of crap.
A whole lot.
I mean a really huge amount of wasted ink on paper.
Now, there is the argument that all of that was valuable in my journey as a writer, in my fine-tuning the writing skills that now allow me to effectively express myself.
Great, but it's still a lot of crap.
Where does that leave me now? Do I consider myself a writer? Yes, I do despite the fact that I have been paid just under $1000.00 for all of my work and that was non-fiction and $25.00 of that I wish I could give back.
So why am I now suddenly a writer? Dunno.
Except have I told you the story about this really cool Boss Mustang I had and . . .
