Yet once again I put fingers to keys as my mind races and whirls and sleep lies just out of reach. I have been working on editing my newest book, CHILD OF DESTINY, trying to make it to where, hopefully, it will be accepted.

I mentioned in one of my other posts that I had been banned from one of the critique sites, but I did not explain why. The simple truth is they kept wanting me to change my stories, kept telling me to read loads of stuff in the genre I want to write in, and never seemed satisfied with the changes I made.

I posted the first two chapters four or five times on that site, and every time I changed something, they wanted more. The fifth time I had had enough. I had changed my original voice, my original words, to the point where they no longer were mine, they had begun to be a frankenstein-type mishmash of what my original creation had been.

By the time that I had followed the advice of those that had found my words unworthy, I had stripped my story of the very things that painted a mental picture of not only the characters themselves, but of the emotions I had originally been trying to convey, leaving nothing but bare boned skeletons performing on a nearly empty stage that was almost completely devoid of setting or atmosphere.

I was recently accused of being self centered, stubborn, and whiney, always complaining about my bad luck, and that I basically used my illnesses as a crutch and as an excuse not to change. Well folks, I have a few things to say about that.

First off, let me make it unmistakeably clear that I am very aware than not only am I not the only one that suffers the things I do, but also that there are others that endure a lot more or worse.

I am very aware that there are those out there that write a thousand times better than I do.

I am very aware that there are those out there that know a lot more than I do about writing.

And I am very aware that I do dwell on my illness, that I do focus on myself, and that I can be stubborn.

But I want one thing understood quite clearly, or rather several things…

One…I spent the first fifty years of my life bending over backwards trying to change every time someone told me they didn’t like something about  me…till I woke up the morning of my fiftieth birthday and realized I didn’t even know who-much less WHAT-I was any more…and I decided that enough was enough, what little time I had left on this miserable mud ball of a planet I was going to be true to myself…

Two…I am not twisting anyone’s arms to force them to like either myself nor my words or stories, but I am through trying to please everyone else…if those who read either my posts or my stories and like or dislike them, at least I will know the words were mine and not words that I had been forced to say or write in order to be accepted. If I make any changes, it will because I choose to make the changes and not because someone else thinks I should just to fit their preconceived idea of what I should say or write!

Three…I write using descriptives, period. When I write, I do so from my heart, building not only the characters through description, but the stage settings and emotions as well.

And no, I do not chop up-compress-dilute those tellings, I write them as close to what I am seeing in my mind, heart and soul as I can, trying to paint a word picture of those images.

And yes, I often uses words, terms and phrasing that may be considered “out of vogue” in this modern age, but my writing is still comprehensible to those that take the time to read it.

If I am to be persecuted and rejected by the masses for that, then so be it, there must surely be at least one or two in this world that will appreciate my style of writing, but I refuse to alter myself or my words simply to garner that world’s approval.

In short, either accept me for myself or accept me not at all.

There are those who may read this post and take exception to my words, but I refuse to hide my true self.

If my style of writing will not be accepted by agents and editors, then I will save myself the heartache and disappointment of rejection after rejection and simply publish my stories myself through places such as lulu or createspace.

I may never become a “household word”, an “icon” or a “literary marvel”, and I may never sell millions of books or be listed on any major “best seller” lists, but that is fine, as I do not seek the publicity anyway, only a way to better my current situation.

I do not have that many years left and money is merely a means of attaining a possible home of my own and independence. If I make just enough to get me out from under the restrictions currently keeping me in this situation, so that I can use my other talents to better aid myself, then I will be content.

As I said, either accept me as I am or do not accept me at all, but do not demand that I change who I am, for your demands will not be met.

I change what I want to change based on what I feel will be best for me, not based on what someone else feels would be best for them in order to accept me.

I have been torn into too many pieces for most of my life…

I intend to spend what is left of it trying to put myself back together again.

That being said, blessings to all who have taken the time to read this, even if they don’t agree with my words.

And one thing, these words are not meant to offend, anger, or belittle anyone, fellow writer or otherwise, but are merely a statement of fact and personal opinion.






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