Welcome readers, writers, authors, and bloggers!
We’re glad you’re here. For the sixth time this year, it's the First Wednesday of the month when we celebrate IWSG Day, in the form of a blog hop featuring all of the members of the Insecure Writer's Support Group. Founded by Alex Cavanaugh and fostered by like-minded associates, IWSG is a place to share the fabulous views and exciting news that occurs along our fascinating writing journeys. Pull up a chair and join us!
Our awesome co-hosts for this month's posting of the IWSG are:
J Lenni Dorner, Sarah Foster, Natalie Aguirre, Lee Lowery, and Rachna Chhabria!
Most adages come from something experienced; “Out of the pan and into the fire”, “Birds of a feather…” For John Steinbeck “The dog ate it” was all too true when his faithful Irish setter became upset at being left alone too long and ate the entire first draft half of “Of Mice and Men” Steinbeck, who reportedly thought his dog may have been “acting critically” then spent the next two months amicably rewriting his work.
Would it matter if any or all of your work was published posthumously? It matters a great deal to some, it seems, when it comes to Steinbeck’s long-buried werewolf novel “Murder at Full Moon” Written under a pseudonym and originally rejected in 1930, the novel was all but forgotten until recently when a couple of literary academics petitioned Steinbeck’s estate for its release and were met with opposition from literary agents close to the family. The, uh, “Jury is still out” on the issue.
I can’t imagine too many scenarios more frustrating than a missing page, can you? Thankfully, my only experience has been realizing the exact page I needed had been torn out of a public phonebook. Just last week I actually groaned with dismay when an old rerun of M.A.S.H. showed the entire unit sharing one copy of an engrossing book called “The Rooster Crowed at Midnight” only to discover the last page, the one where the culprit is finally revealed, is missing! I easily understood the anguished consternation that ensued. One outraged member of the camp was even promised a trip to Fatlip, Arizona. Fatlip, Arizona? Whoa. No need to get personal.
I mean, I gasped. I sat straighter in my chair. Was there really a town called Fatlip in Arizona? I had to know. That, my friends, is what I did for over an hour instead of working on my manuscript. Shameful, isn’t it? Except, I realized something. In all the time I’ve spent on this manuscript which revolves around activity going on nine miles up a mountain, I’ve never named the town below. Now I wonder if I even need to. Your thoughts?