KP Blog13 Sep 2014
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Who do you trust?
I lead a group of local writers who meet once a month to read and critique each other's unpublished works. Some have been together for over 12 years and have become close friends. They make copies of their presentations - 1500 words or less and pass them around the table, so each member can follow along. But when finished with the reading and the listening and the critiquing, each participant grabs their copies back. They count them and surreptitiously tuck their stories away in their protective folders - lest someone in the group steal their creation; plagiarizing every precious word put down on paper. They don't completely trust each other.
I remember when I first started taking writing seriously, harboring those same fears. In all honesty, these fears are fueled by an inflated ego that led me to believe that my creation was so unique, so brilliant ,so valuable; that every other writer setting eyes on it, was bent on robbing my precious copy; claiming all the fame and fortune that was mine - for themselves. So I kept my treasures to myself - out of harm's way; until I realized that none of that hidden away material will ever be seen or appreciated. By keeping my work locked in a sock, it would stagnate in its own cocoon, never to burst forth and fly on its own. It was safe and secure - immune from the dreaded rejection slip - the ultimate fear. "OMG not everyone appreciates my masterpiece! " On the other hand I could never hope to enjoy the thrill of seeing my name in print either. For me, the need to get my story out trumped the security of safekeeping.
This was the time to take a deep breath and trust someone - to dive in and hope for the best. Entrust 'baby' to other sets of eyes .I did my homework . Checked out many publishers. Got recommendations. Sought out the nearest psychic. Consulted the Angie's list of book makers. Yet, in the final analysis I needed to place my trust to the gods of copy crafters; then follow my instinct. I had to take that leap of faith and hit 'send.'
Once I did that, I could relax - briefly. It was out of my hands for a while.. All I had to do for now, was wait for the results. Soon the waiting became an issue. Doubt and fear crept back, as weeks, months flew by with no response. Naysayers shook their heads contributing ominous warnings which boiled down to: "They (publishers) are only interested in making money off you..." 'Duh', Did I need you to tell me that? Is there something wrong with that? I'd ask them. Do you have a bank that you trust with your life savings? A life insurance policy? Do you trust your doctor - with your life? Are they making money off of you? It's called free enterprise.
Serious publishers don't have time to steal from you. Most editors toss out manuscripts after reading only three sentences of the thousands of submissions they receive. A reputable publisher is looking for material that will benefit both of you. There is nothing wrong with that. Yet, I still spent sleepless nights hoping that I hadn't sent my manuscript to a rogue publisher - if I had made a big mistake. I went into my 'what's the worst thing that could happen' mode and came to the conclusion that making the wrong decision would be a serious blow to my pride. Saving face was the hardest pill to swallow. There goes that ego thing again. - next blog topic:. I thought over the times I had been scammed by an auto mechanic, a roofer and a chimney repair service. I had survived those and I would survive this, if it comes to that.
Admittedly. I became impatient and lost heart as unexpected circumstances interrupted the smooth progress of my publication and the naysayers were tsk..tsking my venture, but with a little bit of luck it all came out right. At least I knew that my work was recognized by professionals in the field.
As I see it now: If I hadn't taken the risk - that first step and all the steps that followed - If I hadn't placed my trust in Mary, I wouldn't be proudly sitting here with my first book in hand, putting the finishing touches to this blog about trust.
Happy Anniversary Keith Publications and thank you Mary, Christy and your entire 'trustworthy' staff.
An award winning writer, June presents a unique spin on raising a special needs child in her memoir, . Jay's story explores all the challenges she and her family faced while striving to maintain her son's need to be a 'regular kid'; as well as their struggles with the ever-present threat to their faith in God. It reaches out to a variety of interest groups ranging from teachers and caregivers, to medical professionals, dog lovers and motorcycle clubs. She has also written a collection of poems, , which focus on issues for the handicapped. Her essay, , received the Angel Animal Network award. June has been published in the National Library of Poetry, Biker Rally magazine and acknowledged by Reader's Digest for her entry, She has contributed to the Muscular Dystrophy Association newsletter, and wrote a humorous column for a local church,
To find out more about June Kempf follow the links below.
Leave a comment for your chance to win an Ebook copy of June Kempfs'-"Yo God! Jay's Story and a $10.00 Amazon Gift Card"!
Blurb of Book:"Yo God! You got me into this, now get me out."
That tough FTW in-your-face attitude masks a TLC softie, who meets his fate with courage, dignity and style. He was no ordinary poster kid. Jonathan's story will leave the reader questioning how he could manage all his conflicts - especially those dealing with faith.
Follow his life’s journey and struggle to remain ‘a regular kid’ while suffering from the advancing devastation of Muscular Dystrophy. ‘Yo God! Jay’s Story’, lovingly told by his mom, June Capossela Kempf will touch the hearts of every parent, educator and healer who wants to better understand the reality of raising a special needs child and bring this awareness to all they encounter in their own lives.
Be prepared to cry, but don’t be surprised if you find yourself laughing out loud through the tears.
Excerpt of Book:
That first contingent pulled up in front of the van blocking our path - as if we could go anywhere anyway. The rest of the band stayed behind. I didn't notice if they were smiling or not. The leader of the pack approached us. He was big, burly and bald – wearing a course pair of jeans and a denim, cut-off sleeves jacket that revealed a three-dimensional serpent tattooed on his upper biceps. The letters FTW, whatever that meant, were burned across the back of the jacket. Jay promptly dubbed him, 'Snake' I reached to open the window.
"Ma, don't open it!"
"Jay, keeping this window closed is not going to stop anyone here…from anything, Keeping your mouth shut might."
I rolled the window down when 'Snake' began to speak:
"Ma'am," he said politely, "It looks like you and your boy are in a mess of trouble."
I saw that he was looking way beyond a flat tire. Pausing for only a moment, we briefly established eye-to-eye contact and instantly came to an understanding: He was softer than he looked and he thought I was tougher than I appeared-even though my heart was pounding in terror..
" We'll help you out,” he said, as he nodded to his crew.
"That's okay, I have AAA on my phone…"
Now, he smiled. A big wide grin slivered across his chin revealing a gleaming gold tooth. A low groan rose from behind me as Jay reached over to whisper, "Ma let him help. Geeze!"
Seeing the wisdom of Jay's advice I said," Okay."
As three of his brother bikers dismounted their Hogs and retrieved their tools, two others lifted the spare off the rear of the van. Snake stood by the open window staring at us, only breaking the eerie silence to ask; " You headin' for the camp?"
He glanced over at his crew and signaled 'thumbs up'. I was afraid to think what that meant to a group that communicated more by gesture than words. Only Snake spoke to me:
"Ma'am, you mind taking your boy out – to lighten up the load for my men…."
As the side door opened and the ramp moved out, the entire band of bikers swarmed around to watch. Suddenly there was a gaggle of conversation. They liked the mechanics of the ramp.
. "Ya see that?" one rider said. "It's got a screw jack action."
I came out the doorway and jumped down - to be next to Jay - thinking that this could be the perfect time for them to hijack the van and leave us stranded in the middle of Dukes of Hazard country.
Snake walked over while his guys went to work.
"What's your name, son?"
"Jonathan ---they call me Jay"
"Nice to meet you."
He tried to give Jay a high-five handshake, but when he noticed that Jay couldn't lift his arm. He patted Jay on his cap.. He nodded and stepped back while a couple of his comrades took Jay aside to give him a drink of something. He turned to speak to me again:
"Muscular Dystrophy - right?" he said. I nodded my head.
"That’s lousy… how old is he?"
"Fourteen, " I answered.
He shook his head and spoke softly – reverently,
"That just breaks me up. I had a buddy in a chair. He took a hit in 'Nam'. …Bad. But, it was war…. the boy…your boy…He's just a kid. Nothing's worse…you lady - for you it can't get much worse…."
Suddenly, I was no longer afraid. He was right. What could be worse? He touched my hand while tears welled in his worn steely eyes; then quickly composed himself.
"God Bless you," he whispered, " God help you both…"
"I think He just did." I told him.
Press: Stand Up and Let Your Voice Be Heard!
MDA Scandal: Magazine Refused to Feature New Book by Former Chapter Prez About Son’s Battle | Showbiz411
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