I be alive and well, still

Well, my most esteemed readers, physically separated from my Viper XIX friends I sit here munching on snacks and pondering the impact of the past six days on myself as a person, on my writing, on my life, and on my place in the universe.

Well, as a person I’m still pretty much the same jerk few barely tolerate. Perhaps the most profound change has been a small increase in my ability to accept the occasional compliment, as in “Thank you. That’s very nice of you to say” will now be my standard response. Thank you, Steven Brust. That was very nice of you.

How did this week change me as a writer . . . hmm . . . let me put it like this:

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As a writer, I’ve live within a controlled shell. Namely, very few people see my writing. Sure, it’s posted here, but “here” has low traffic, and that traffic is mostly interested in my “amazing” photos. (Thank you. That’s very nice of you to say.)

Were I a press operator, I would require the remaining fingers on both hands to count readers of my fiction (somewhere between four and six).

VP XIX gave me the confidence to venture beyond my shell.

During my time here in the Vineyard, I found my writing stones, my submitting stones. The stones empowering me to look outside the safety of this little world of mine.

I will apply what I learned this week to my craft — yes, I said ‘craft’, because it is a craft and I will endeavor to approach it as such — and submit the result without fear or insecurity or shame. I will start an agent search, polish my novels, polish my short stories, and when to at least my eyes they shine, send them to sail the four winds, I will . . . or is it eight winds? . . . sixteen? Whatever, there will be stuff on the wind. In the wind?

Oh, FSM!

. . . maybe I’m just fooling myself. Maybe all I learned is a new level of fear.

No.

Those be but details for copy editors to fix. My job is crafting stories which will rip someone’s guts out, shred their hearts, and render their minds inoperative. Then, my job is selling those stories along with a disclaimer. Something about not being responsible for ripping guts, shredding hearts, and causing mental malfunctions.

Yes. I came to the Vineyard and found my stones.

My writing stones . . .

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. . . and my submitting stones . . .

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They may be old, they may be worn, and they may be tired, but they are my stones, and I found them here (on a beach not far from the Inn), and I’m bringing them home with me.

Will they affect my life, my universe? Who knows?

Perhaps this path was mine all along. Perhaps I will be me no matter what I do (I kind of like me, so I hope so). Perhaps tomorrow another path will open, one I’ve yet to imagine.

But, for now, lead on, oh my stones.

One more thing. I’ve been meaning to use this photo, and this seems as an opportune time as any. The photo is a view from the sixth tee of the Cherokee Ridge Golf Club in Colorado Springs.

We sat under a shelter as a storm dropped rain and lightning around us, my friend and I. It moved slow, that storm, and it looked as if we might have to abandon the hope of finishing our round. And then it passed, that storm, and in its wake, it left us this sight.

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Perhaps, this be a metaphor of sorts. That is a very nice shot, and although one might not think that it can be improved, one can certainly try. The result may not be to everyone’s liking, but nothing ever is. All I can do is get it to where I like it and then share it.

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That’s it. This post has ended . . . except for the stuff below.

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Note: if you are not reading this blog post at DisperserTracks.com, know that it has been copied without permission, and likely is being used by someone with nefarious intention, like attracting you to a malware-infested website.  Could be they also torture small mammals.

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Please, if you are considering bestowing me recognition beyond commenting below, refrain from doing so.  I will decline blogger-to-blogger awards.   I appreciate the intent behind it, but I prefer a comment thanking me for turning you away from a life of crime, religion, or making you a better person in some other way.  That would mean something to me.

If you wish to know more, please read below.

About awards: Blogger Awards
About “likes”:   Of “Likes”, Subscriptions, and Stuff

Note: to those who may click on “like”, or rate the post; if you do not hear from me, know that I am sincerely appreciative, and I thank you for noticing what I do.

. . .  my FP ward  . . . chieken shit.

About disperser

Odd guy with odd views living an odd life during odd times.
This entry was posted in Musings Stuff, Personal, Writing, Writing Stuff and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

16 Responses to I be alive and well, still

  1. oneowner says:

    Those are some very nice stones. I have stones, too. First, I have my main stones, which I use on a daily basis. But then I have my emergency back-up stones when I need more or if the main ones become unable to perform. It’s a good system and I won’t mind if you want to borrow the technique.

    Like

  2. yes very lovely photos! but I like what you have written here. I can relate!! I love to write but am nowhere near publishing – but I love to write!! :D Good luck in throwing those dreams into space- I rather like the solar winds!!

    Like

    • disperser says:

      Thank you. That is very nice of you to say.

      By the way, I learned that I will remain unpublished as long as I don’t submit. Apparently, publishing houses don’t send out hunting parties trying to bag authors. Their strategy is anchored in them, the publishing houses, waiting for authors to fall in their laps (the laps of the publishing houses, not those of the authors.)

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Very pretty rocks.

    And yes they could tell a story.

    I need that rainbow, and I need it now.

    Those pics are beautiful.

    Like

    • disperser says:

      Rainbows are nice to see, but one must not forget there is no substance to them, and there are no pots of gold where they end. Just something pretty to admire, and not something to build one’s dreams around.

      Like

      • Vicka Corey says:

        fiction that is beautiful and admirable is a pleasure unto itself. a rainbow is one lovely hell of a sight! stones might qualify better as building materials, but a day with a rainbow in it is a valid delight :)

        Like

        • disperser says:

          See, that’s why you have a better chance at literary publishing.

          I might have said something like “looks nice, but where are the doughnuts?”

          Like

  4. sandra getgood says:

    Like your stones, and like the idea of submitting your writing….just imagine, those of us here will be able to boast that we knew you….and your writing…. long before you became known by all these other latecomers. We already think you are successful…. but it would be fun seeing you on the NY Times list of best-selling authors! :-)

    Like

    • disperser says:

      Thank you. That is very nice of you to say.

      Rest assured, should I meet with that sort of success, I will not forget the early fans.

      I’ll even endure the inevitable “I told you so”.

      Like

  5. You have GREAT stones! I’m glad you found them!
    It’s so nice that you learned how to accept a compliment on your writing…which can, also, work with your amazing photos, etc…! (I am still working on accepting compliments and I am doing better.)
    I love the last photo of the rainbow! That is how I see the world most days! :-)
    I have a space reserved on one of my bookshelves for when you get a book published. See, because I know you will get a book published.
    HUGS and Happy Sunday!!! :-)

    Like

  6. I packed both shells and stones in one of the boxes I sent home.

    I’m a writer who hasn’t submitted in awhile, so, like you, I’ll be studying markets, polishing, re-writing and…submiting.

    Like

    • disperser says:

      I only have a few, so they will travel with me.

      The only market I’ve submitted to is Writers of the Future, mostly because submitting is so easy. So, yes . . . gonna do more work from now on. Gonna act like a real working writer.

      Like

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