One book leads to another...

Wednesday, January 3, 2018

Belonging To Yourself

Happy 2018, everyone! On behalf of our founder, Alex Cavanaugh, and all of us here at IWSG, we welcome you to the 1st Wednesday of the month (and in this case, the year) when we all convene online to share, compare, brag, or bemoan the adventures we experience along the uniquely solitary journey we call writing. 

My thoughts for today are on a beleaguered soul; publicly berated on social media, for having the gall to call himself an Author when he wasn’t traditionally published by one of the few remaining “Big Houses.”  On the off-chance that there is more than one writer-turned-author turned writer-disparager out there, I recommend this article on 2018 publishing predictions by Steff Green.  

I daresay the condemned writer also wasn’t an actor or a Politician, nor a writer seeking immediate fame and fortune. But writers do write to be read, hopefully, while they still live and breathe.

Case in point: In 1846, American author Herman Melville found a London publisher for the first of two highly acclaimed novels based on his experiences in the South Pacific. In 1851, Harper & Brothers (New York) published Melville’s epic novel; Moby Dick, which for some reason flopped and was not recognized as a classic until nearly 30 years after Melville’s death. 

Conversely, Sue Grafton, author of the popular ‘Alphabet’ mysteries; beginning with “A is for Alibi,” knew very well the impact she had on her readers and never failed to deliver the stories they yearned for. She also swore there would be no other name on her work and no Ghostwriters. While her passing this last December leaves a mystery as to what “Z” might have been for, we can especially cherish “Y is for Yesterday,” her last book.

And to think Claude Monet’s father wanted him to be a grocer, not a painter ;-)

Whatever the outlet, may we all seize and enjoy this season of creativity!

"There is a privacy about it which no other season gives you ..... In spring, summer and fall people sort of have an open season on each other; only in the winter, in the country, can you have longer, quiet stretches when you can savor belonging to yourself." 
-  Ruth Stout

Happy Writing!