Friday, May 29, 2009

When the spring goes stagnant

Now that I am writing articles that are possibly going to be read by people whose opinions I am concerned about, suddenly things such as grammar, punctuation, and spelling become extremely important. More important that those is having a topic that people want to read about.

I can talk about my dog, my cats, my collection of Simpsons and Vintage my little ponies. But unless you are a American Bulldog lover or a 5 year old I have already lost your attention.

SO what brings the reader in? What draws us to the perfect article?

The fact is we all want to hear something that makes us feel better. Either about the world or about ourselves. Whether it is about the three legged dog that can detect cancer, or the hooker who now managed a hospice for people with AIDS. Sad stories with tough but happy endings are usually goldmines.

I have some of those. Actually I have quite a spring of those. In my life it seems friends have gathered themselves to me who have come from the same stock as myself and we have come together and cobbled ourselves into a semblance of toughness.

The rpough point being, while we have tough stories of obstacles overcome and hardships averted to sell, we're not selling even if they're buying.

So our pool runs stagnant at times for fodder for the mill.

A fellow author and co-patriot of this "Land of misfit kids" from whence I sprang and I discussed our lack of selling our stories despite the public seeming to devour the personal story of trauma overcome.

We tried to rationalize it to one and other. Just to see if we could, to practice in a way in case the question ever came up from an editor. Oddly enough it never has. We have been good enough at finding stories however obscure as to not dig up our personal dirt and lay it out for the public to feast on.

Neither of us could rationalize why we couldn't or wouldn't do it. We just knew that it was never going to happen. It wasn't shame, or fear, or protection. If I ever did s memoir or a bibliography it would be a comic and it would be free with a donation to Hoenwald elephant sanctuary.

I would tell my story to a friend over beers in a bar or during a camp out. I have and probably would again.

But I would not feel comfortable knowing somewhere soccer mom's were having an Oprah's book club about my childhood and how it related to their upper middle class existence.

It would not be OK with me, even if it paid my rent.

My friend laughed at me and said. "That is all you would have to say."

More stories up on Associated Content soon, Keep checking please.


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