PhoebeJaneWrites

In my hands I held the latest book of one of my favorite authors. Finding a new book usually brought about a feeling of excitement for this bookworm. However, I had been burned by his previous work and I was not sure if I was ready to give him another chance. For days I plowed through his last tome in the hopes that it would get better. (It did not. To say Dreamcatcher was a disappointment is an understatement even if it was a “New York Times Bestseller”).

I wandered the store with the book in my hands debating if I was ready to give it a shot. Having found no other book of interest, I decided to try reading a few pages and much to my delight, I was hooked. It was very different from his previous novel, most notably, this was not a novel but a collection of short stories. I purchased the book and continued reading on the drive home, grateful not to be the one to have to navigate through the Los Angeles traffic.

By the end of the night, I had finished the book. The next day, I could not  stop thinking of the stories from those pages. They clung to me and had my head spinning in a familiar but previously forgotten way. New stories chased me. Stories that were in no way similar to those in the book I had read. Something had been turned on inside of me and that day, in between reviewing artwork and coupons, I started pouring those stories onto the pages of a yellow legal pad. From the legal pad, I upgraded to one of these new mini laptops with built in internet called a netbook.

Fast forward to April 20, 2013. At the LA Festival of Books, I learned that one of my favorite authors would be signing books. After standing in line for hours. I was able to meet and speak with Orson Scott Card. I told him about my passion for stories and my love for his book Ender’s Game. When he asked me what I did with the short stories I wrote, I was silent. He proceeded to lecture me.

What you are doing is poison! You don’t write stories so that they sit in folders at home. They should be shared with the world! Have you thought of submitting them to anthologies?

I heard his words and submitted one or two stories for publications. Both were paid submissions and I never heard a responses. The obvious rejection hurt my soul and I decided that I would submit to another publication later.

The weeks turned into months and the months turned to years as they tend to do. The rejection hit me harder than I had known and the fears that Mr. Scott Card warned me against had returned. I would keep my writings hidden. Writing had become more of a hobby. Something I did on occasion that I dreamed I could do more of “…if I just had more time.”

Then a life changing event occurred. My heart was torn in two and in the midst of the pain I dove into writing once again. None of it was any good as most of it was the ramblings of a heartbroken woman. Yet, I kept writing. What else could I do?

A blog post caught my eye one day. Some independent publishing label was looking for short stories for an anthology to raise funds for a children’s charity. I wrote my story and with many reservations (all that fear and the knowledge that my story was below the minimum word count) I submitted the tale. It was accepted and published in the anthology.

Since that time my short stories have been published in three different collections. The most recent publication to accept my work is a collection entitled Emerging Writers of California. (Shameless plug: The anthology can be purchased here if you are interested) In my excitement, I posted links on my social media and announced to the world that once again, I had been published.

It is an amazing thing to have your work available to others and even more encouraging to hear feedback from those who purchase the book. As grateful as I felt, a part of me still feels unfulfilled. Anthologies containing a story by me could be purchased in ebook and in paperback form, yet, I felt like something was missing. Flipping through the pages of this most recent book reminded me of that day in the bookstore almost exactly 10 years ago. It was then that I knew.

Writing stories to have them sit and not be read was never my goal. I wanted to share them with the world. Not in a piecemeal form but all at once. Against the advice of one of my great friends, I have made a decision.

Logging into Evernote, I see them waiting as I had left them years ago.  A collection of stories that had been born into this world onto yellow legal pad pages, transferred to a word document on a netbook then into a cloud service on an iPad. The method had changed but those words stayed the same.

It is time that I put them out for the world to see.

Phoebe Jane