Now retired, my father has taken to writing down his mental collection of short stories – hunting anecdotes, old Native American tales, etc. It didn’t take long before he started being accepted for publication, knocking on their collective ear all the dire warnings about struggling, first-time writers and rejection letters. To be fair, Dad was a pastor for more than 30 years, writing what amounted to a multi-page essay (sermon) to deliver every Sunday morning; it’s not like he’s just started writing.
You might even blame him for the blog you’re reading now. Because Dad is “where I get it” – he’s largely responsible for my own love of language and precision grammar. From him I inherited the pet peeve regarding the near-constant misuse of “decimation” (for an example of correct usage, see Doctor Who – I knew I loved that show for a reason).
Dad’s blog is here, and his first story, “When the Leaves Didn’t Fall” – a Native American legend explaining why the oak tree retains its leaves late into winter – has been published in the Wilderness House Literary Review.