I've been writing short stories, novels, novellas and screenplays for years now, closing in on twenty years if I want to admit it. I piled up these stories in binders, packed them in milk crate or just put them in boxes in my closet, with no hopes of them ever seeing the light of day. Since I was in grade seven and was given encouragement by a teacher, I had always dreamed of becoming a writer, of entertaining and horrifying people with the nightmares I could make up. I remember writing my first few stories, taking time and feeling joy and the silly and demented situations that I came up with, making up monsters and killing people in horrible ways. Reading books by Stephen King, Shirley Jackson, H.P. Lovecraft, Poe and Ray Bradbury showed me how I could hone my skill and add character and humour even to these and still give a fright.
Then, when showing my work to my dad, he told me that there was no chance to ever make it as a writer. He told me the market was too competitive and it should just be a hobby. I wasn't very old when he said it, but it stuck with me and made me think twice about what I loved to do. It wasn't long after that that I gave up writing the first time.
When I hit high school, it wasn't the best of time for me. Being a punk and a skater in a school mainly filled with homies, jocks and rich kids, I was an outcast. I started writing again, but this time I wrote songs. I used my writing then to vent my anger and frustration; lyrics about social injustice, police brutality and typical high school angst. Looking back now, it was pretty terrible stuff, but there was a lot going on in those years. I lived in a violent world (seeing my dad get stabbed and a gun pulled on my mom and sister), watched friends and family get lost in drugs, was robbed and beaten a few times, and a few other things that I one day will actually write about in an ongoing project called Punk’s Not Dead, but that will be far into the future as there are people I know are going to be hurt by what I tell in this one.
That’s for another day.
When I hit grade ten, I realized that regular high school was just not for me. The cliques, the stuck up teachers and the general lack of imagination just bothered me too much. So, with the support of my mother, I left there and went to West End Alternative. Changing schools was one of the best things for me. With a teaching staff that was not only supportive, but encouraging too. It was here that I rediscovered my love to write stories. My English teacher, Lydia, pushed me forward and within two weeks I had finished eight stories, some that will see the light of day sooner or later, the rest, not so much. Throughout the rest of high school, my short stint in post-secondary and moving out in the work force, I continued to write, piling up a huge collection of stories and novels that I still have for the most part. During a seven year period, I wrote five full novels and eighty-two short stories, some which have already appeared in my collections. My dreams of being a published writer were stronger than ever, but I had no idea where to start. So, I only let friends and family read them and was encouraged by their reactions.
Then I met a girl that told me that everything I wrote was garbage and I should just give up and forget it all, that my dream to be a writer was as stupid as I was. I worked harder at first, trying to impress her, only to get insult after insult. She brought back those old doubts that my dad had instilled unknowingly in me, and I felt that she was right. I must be a hack.
This was the second time I quit writing.
It lasted for three years, the span of that terrible relationship.
Then, things turned around when I met Mina, the woman I consider my true muse. The second I told her that I was a writer, and that I wanted to get published, she had my back. She pushed me forward, telling me that I could do it and never letting me doubt myself. She was there with me for my first few rejection letters and was there for the first acceptance letters as well. It took a while for me to shake off the old doubts that had been blooming in me, but she never let me give up. I took time to write new material, careful to let my true voice out, and then within a week, two of my stories were accepted.
That first story, The Soldier, was accepted by Jeani Rector over at The Horror Zine. Originally, I had written it for an anthology called Weird War Anthology, but they decided to pass on it. The rejection was heartbreaking, but I didn’t give up. I loved the story and hoped someone would take it on. I sent it to Jeani, and she gave me nothing but praise over it, publishing it on her website and in A Feast of Frights as well alongside Joe R. Lansdale, Graham Masterton, Joe McKinney, Simon Clark, Ed Gorman and so many other great writers. It was such a catalyst for everything to follow. (On a side note, that Weird War Anthology that rejected it, still has not come out, well over a year after it was due to be released. To me, that rejection was a blessing and I have never forgotten that one door closing means another one opens.).
It’s now been about a year since my first story was published and I must admit that things have moved quickly. Since then, my work has appeared in Haunted Path issue 7, Dark Eclipse issue 7, A Feast of Frights from the Horror Zine, At the Gates of Madness, Zombies Gone Wild, A Six Pack of Stories, The Original Van Gogh’s Ear, Brother’s Ilk, Zippered Flesh 2, The Best of Dark Eclipse and 50 Shades of Decay. And before the full year is up, I still have work to appear in three or four more anthologies and magazines, not to mention my novel. There have been so many positive reviews and emails from people, letting me know how my work has affected them and encouraging me to move forward. I have received emails from writers that I grew up with, admire and respect, telling me that they have read and enjoyed what I wrote, and those ones have truly blown my mind. A year ago, I would never have thought I would be where I am today and now as I look forward, I see a road of possibilities ahead.
So, why have I written this big, long, kind of personal blog? The reason is simple; I know my story isn't all that unique. I know there are writers out there that have been shot down by family and friends, received rejection letters that shattered their world and made them feel like giving up. The writing world is a daunting place, filled with people that will stab you with their opinions and try to fill your head with doubts, but never give up. If writing is what you want to do, as it was for me, then you have to go over those bumpy roads, walk over coals and fight your own demons before you get to where you want to be. Those challenges are there to weed out those that don’t have the heart. Just remember, if you are a writer, write. The only thing that can stop you is you.