WRITING IS AN ART FORM

“SIN-DICATION”

            The last time I tried to write this story, it was launched into the stratosphere when my computer froze, refused to save it, and then obliterated my endeavors.  Are there forces at work greater than my own power?

            My writers’ group used to meet at Michael’s former home in Surrey and one evening in 2002 or 2003, I was the first party to arrive.  I sat in the kitchen, with an unobstructed view of both the front and back doors, which were open that warm evening.  Watching Michael prepare refreshments, I listened to him telling me that he was going to be a very rich and famous writer, that he was giving himself three years to achieve the goal of being self-supporting from his creative writing.  I loved his enthusiasm and then started to laugh, remembering and then relating my former attempt to get rich quick from writing.

            It was the beginning of October, 1985.  I was a separated mother of two, desperately seeking some way to earn more money. I already worked for The Aldergrove Star, our local weekly newspaper.  Rudy Langmann, the owner and editor, hired me to sell subscriptions and also allowed me to write a weekly column about my experiences doing so door-to-door.  That was marvelous.  I was a weekly columnist earning the grand sum of $20.00, in Canadian funds, for my written contribution.  Subscription sales paid me far more than writing.

            I was determined, though, that I would succeed.  Somehow.  I kept writing and I kept looking for opportunities.  Writer’s Market had listed syndication agencies and I started mulling over that idea.  What if?  What if I wrote a weekly column that was syndicated?  What if I sold it to all the weekly newspapers in British Columbia?  There were over one hundred papers, and at $10.00 apiece, I could be rich.

            Good plan.  What would I write about?  Something different.  “What Is The Occult?”  Who could resist that? The New Age was dawning. To prove I could do it, I wrote three sample columns.  I obtained a list of the weeklies and their addresses from the Fraser Valley Regional Library and typed all the envelopes on an electric typewriter.  This was before every home had a personal computer.  I composed a generic cover letter and had all the necessary photo-copying done to send three sample columns to each newspaper.  I stuffed envelopes, sealed and stamped them, and mailed everything.  This was my gamble.  And then I waited.

            In the meantime, Rudy, ever the helpful and willing mentor, kindly published my first column of “What Is The Occult?”  That was not a good business decision. Right in the middle of the Fraser Valley bible belt, where there’s a church on every corner fending off the devil, advertisers in his paper were not going to be part of this evil and sinful endeavor.  They were outraged.  And readers indignantly told Rudy they did not want anything so wicked in “their” local newspaper.  Economic necessity forced Rudy to stop publishing my column on the occult.  I would only be writing about door-to-door subscription sales.  He decided to keep his paper running and forego bringing New Age enlightenment to the Valley.

            My “get rich quick” scheme didn’t get me anywhere.  I never heard back from any other newspaper.

            As I laughingly shared with Michael my failed attempt at making a fortune from writing, the doorbell rang.  I could see there was nobody at the front door and nobody at the back door.  Michael checked downstairs, and there was nobody at the basement door, either.  We just looked at each other and started laughing again.  So what is the occult, anyway?

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By Lisa A. Hatton

Since that time, Michael Hiebert has had several books published, but does admit the royalties don’t pay the rent.  I decided long ago that my writing, for me, is an art form, and I’m going to continue writing just for the sheer enjoyment of it.or 2003

TO BREAK THE SILENCE

The following poem is for anyone frustrated at feeling compelled to stay silent about something important.

LISTEN!

I want my say

I’ll have my say

Your muzzle of established rules and regulations

Cannot damn

The flood of my opining

I want my say

I’ll have my say

Laying bare the bones of your iniquity

And from the grave

Of truth betrayed

I’ll rise

I want my say

I’ll have my say

And fuming forth from your forgetting

I will assault

The bastion of your ignorance

I want my say

I’ll have my say

The cadence of my words to smite your defence

That in my saying

You will listen.

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By Lisa A. Hatton

PREDATOR AND PREY

PREDATOR AND PREY

She hung up on me.  I don’t understand.  She was the one who phoned me.  Four o’clock in the afternoon.  A stranger I don’t even know, and she hung up on me.

When I answered the phone, she said her name was Ann and she was calling about the writing group she had seen mentioned in the paper.

Eagerly, I said, “Yes, what would you like to know?”

“How many members do you have?” she queried.

            I told her we can have anywhere from four to twelve people attending any of our weekly meetings.

            “So who leads your group?” she wanted to know.

            “We don’t really have a leader.  We’re all equals,” I told her.

            “What is your format for meetings?  Do you read?  Do you critique?” she asked imperatively.

            “We all read, either our own work or something about writing.  If we critique after a reading, it’s what we call a soft critique.  If anybody wants an in-depth critique, we ask they provide a hard copy of their work and we will work on it and bring it back at a later date,” I explained.

            “You mean you can’t critique just from a reading?  I ask because I teach creative writing and if you know how to listen properly you can critique a reading,” she said with disdain.

            “But that might not be fair to the writer,” I said.  “How can you give a comprehensive critique when you only hear maybe one chapter or part of a chapter?” I asked.

            “Don’t you people want to learn anything.  Don’t you want somebody to tell you what’s wrong with your work?  Or do you just want others to say how nice your writing is?” she demanded in her strident voice.

            “We all want to learn.  But this is mainly a support group. It’s not a class with a teacher.  We like our informal setting. And there is a very fine line between critiquing and stifling creative expression,” I defended.

            “Thank you,” she responded with impatience in her voice.

            And then I heard it.  That click as the line went dead.  She hung up on me. I stared at the phone in my hand, waiting for indignation to assault me, but it didn’t.  I only felt relief that I had escaped her witch’s talons.  Then I started to cackle as I pulled out my pen and wrote this down.

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By Lisa A. Hatton

MY WRITING BIO

MY WRITING BIO

Here in this physical world, my poetry was first published by the Aldergrove Star (weekly newspaper) and then read on radio at CKWX in Vancouver, by the late Roy Jacques.  I also wrote a weekly column for the Aldergrove Star, in conjunction with my sale of subscriptions for that paper.  I’ve had personal articles published by The Province newspaper and short stories published by Eclectica Magazine and others by Polar Expressions, by Today’s Senior Newsmagazine, and other anthologies.  One story was published by the Petawawa Post in Ontario, and then online by the B.C. and Yukon Command of the Royal Canadian Legion. You can read this story, “The Making Of A Soldier – A Mother’s Perspective” at https://www.legionbcyukon.ca/news/our-blog

I have self-published two ebooks, “Fire” and “Love Found”, which can be found at www.kobobooks.com

Through the years I have written several newsletters for different groups.  From 2003 till 2019, I hosted the Ram’s Head Writers’ Group, which saw most members achieve some form of publication.  For that group, I wrote “The Review” after each meeting, to recap works read and news about the group.  It was posted as a blog which can be found at www.ramsheadwriters.blogspot.ca

In 2017, I was invited to read at a Lit Café held at Alexandra Neighbourhood House in Crescent Beach, Surrey, B.C.  Then Beyond The Border Storytelling Festival in Cardiff, Wales also invited me to read in 2018, but I was unable to attend.

Currently, my collection of true and mostly humorous short stories about life with my husband, called “Honey Signed The Waiver”, is looking for a publisher.  Three of these stories have been previously published and all thirty of them were read to The Ram’s Head Writers’ Group.

Since finishing “Honey Signed The Waiver”, I’ve written other short stories, some of them to do with Honey, and some that are murder mysteries.  That gives me a nice balance between good and evil.  J

WELCOME TO MY BLOG

Dear Reader,

Welcome to my Blog, my writing sanctum.  Let me tell you a little something about myself as a writer.

I started writing in the early 1980s, when I was disabled from injuries sustained in a car accident.  In my twenties, married with two small children, my writing started as therapy and then became a way to reach out to other people when I was mostly housebound.  Through the written word, I found my inner self, and sometimes my higher self.  Each completed piece of writing brought a sense of joy and wonder, and the suspicion that sometimes the writing was a gift from a much greater source than this one human being.  There is a sense of energy coursing through me as I write that reminds me of the energy touched in deep meditation.  After discussions with many other writers, I know that most of us just call this energy The Muse.

On this blog, I hope to post some of my poetry as well as stories that have already been published and for which I maintain copyright, and other short pieces I have written and collected.  Be sure to read My Writing Bio.

If you’re reading this post, I sincerely hope that you enjoy my writing, or find something unexpected to think about.  That is all this writer aspires to achieve.

INVOCATION OF THE MUSE

I call forth The Muse, the Guardian of the Word

Let inspiration come to me

And wrap me in its wonder.

Guide me through the cavern of unknowing

To the dawn of enlightenment

That manifests in the written word.

Let me write this wisdom down

That it might become my own

And may I become an emissary

In its sharing.

Let me go forth to write with due diligence

As The Muse serves me

And I, The Muse.

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By Lisa A. Hatton, 2005