Yes, I understand I'm a month behind, but I have three excuses for this. One, my birthday was on the 17th. Two, Halloween, need I say more? Three, I don't have regular internet access yet. So, I hope all is forgiven.
On the plus side, I have a new segment I wanna share: Story Time. Yes, I also write short stories, and the one I want to share with you today is one I wrote years ago for a forum site I frequented once upon a time. It's not much, but it does go into detail about my feelings as a writer, with a hint of drama thrown in to keep your eyes front.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. I'll keep posting as much as I can, and I'll keep you posted on my publishing progress. Thanks for reading!
Writer, Father
Words were his ally. Words were his
loyal friends. They weren't just funny marks on a sheet of paper; he
believed that words, when used correctly, could change the world in a
day. Even then, as the words poured from his pen like a golden river,
anticipation lined his skin from head to toe. This compilation of
words, this story--better described as his legacy--had been nurtured
and encouraged to grow for the past four years, which was a long time
for a simple novelette. However, he believed that no amount of time
was too great for his own pride and joy, which, if it were to soon
meet public eyes, had to be absolutely perfect.
Finally, after four years of arduous labor and tortuous anticipation, the final word was being written, and the document was finally finished. He skimmed through the paragraphs, just picturing the events they depicted in his head, as if a large projector had been activated in his head. The story was filled to its brim with love, fear, passion, adventure, drama, an ever-twisting plot line, a few laughs to keep the viewer entertained, and terror beyond belief. This story, he felt, was like a child to him, and, over these years of completing it, has been treated with gentle care, near-obsessive love, and determined guidance toward the greatness he knew it was destined for. Now that it was finally completed (grown up, as it were), tears welled up in his eyes as he sealed the document into an envelope. This moment, to a writer, was like sending your grown child out into the world ready for all it needs to succeed, then five to ten years later, you learn that the child has become successful in every endeavor it has attempted, and it was all thanks to your care, love, and guidance. This was the moment when the writer would send his completed work to be published. It was a chance for him to shine; a chance to be known around the country, and perhaps even the world.
Three days came and went, and still no reply. He became more and more nervous as the days rolled by. Do they love it? Do they hate it? Did they get it at all? The incessant questions pelted his mind continuously. Finally, after he had waited anxiously for a week, a letter addressed to him arrived. Upon seeing it, he nearly fainted; it was they're answer! He hardly dared open it at first, fearful of what awaited him, fearful of a sad and pathetic rejection, fearful of failure. Then, without even thinking, his finger slowly dragged itself through the top of the envelope, opening what contained his 'child's' fate. He hardly believed what he was doing, but a small voice in his head softly, but firmly coaxed him, I have been working on this for four years! I've been waiting for a response for days! I don't want to wait any longer! He swiftly grabbed the letter from the envelope, unfolded it, and closed his eyes as he held it up to eye level. Gently, his eyes peeled open to see what the future had in store for him. The letter, once he was capable of seeing it, read:
Dear Mr. Gallagher,
We are pleased to inform you that we are more than willing to publish your submission. With your permission, we shall send to you a contract, honoring certain agreements between author and publisher. The contract will reach you within the week of your approval.
Congratulations and best wishes,
Andrews Publishing, Inc.
Finally, after four years of arduous labor and tortuous anticipation, the final word was being written, and the document was finally finished. He skimmed through the paragraphs, just picturing the events they depicted in his head, as if a large projector had been activated in his head. The story was filled to its brim with love, fear, passion, adventure, drama, an ever-twisting plot line, a few laughs to keep the viewer entertained, and terror beyond belief. This story, he felt, was like a child to him, and, over these years of completing it, has been treated with gentle care, near-obsessive love, and determined guidance toward the greatness he knew it was destined for. Now that it was finally completed (grown up, as it were), tears welled up in his eyes as he sealed the document into an envelope. This moment, to a writer, was like sending your grown child out into the world ready for all it needs to succeed, then five to ten years later, you learn that the child has become successful in every endeavor it has attempted, and it was all thanks to your care, love, and guidance. This was the moment when the writer would send his completed work to be published. It was a chance for him to shine; a chance to be known around the country, and perhaps even the world.
Three days came and went, and still no reply. He became more and more nervous as the days rolled by. Do they love it? Do they hate it? Did they get it at all? The incessant questions pelted his mind continuously. Finally, after he had waited anxiously for a week, a letter addressed to him arrived. Upon seeing it, he nearly fainted; it was they're answer! He hardly dared open it at first, fearful of what awaited him, fearful of a sad and pathetic rejection, fearful of failure. Then, without even thinking, his finger slowly dragged itself through the top of the envelope, opening what contained his 'child's' fate. He hardly believed what he was doing, but a small voice in his head softly, but firmly coaxed him, I have been working on this for four years! I've been waiting for a response for days! I don't want to wait any longer! He swiftly grabbed the letter from the envelope, unfolded it, and closed his eyes as he held it up to eye level. Gently, his eyes peeled open to see what the future had in store for him. The letter, once he was capable of seeing it, read:
Dear Mr. Gallagher,
We are pleased to inform you that we are more than willing to publish your submission. With your permission, we shall send to you a contract, honoring certain agreements between author and publisher. The contract will reach you within the week of your approval.
Congratulations and best wishes,
Andrews Publishing, Inc.
