One of the more positive things that we writers understand is the importance of perseverance.  Some rejections hurt more than others, but the true writer survives all of them, pursuing the dream of publication with a determination that, in other arenas of life, may seem obsessive to the point of self-delusion.  Yet success is impossible without this colossal will to persist and to prevail.  Suzanne Roberts, in “The Rejection Queen,” does an enthralling job of dramatizing what is, to many writers, the “life-and-death” reality of rejection, as well as the impetus to try and try again, as though we are finally indifferent to hope and hopelessness alike.  This is a spiritual state that may be the ultimate reward of the writing life.

From time to time, I get a piece that is too poignant and moving for me to comment on it at length.  These special essays speak much better for themselves than I could ever speak for them.  Such an essay is “Dan Cole—An Appreciation,” by the acclaimed filmmaker, Charles Evered.  Let us allow the writer, and the essay, to speak for themselves: “There are in this world, captains of industry, scholars of great works and heads of state---there are so called ‘celebrities’ and sports stars and billionaires---and then, there are people who---even though they are in great pain and know they’re dying, will dress up in a threadbare court jester outfit with a tumor sticking out of their chest and walk across the street to make first graders laugh.”  The person the author loves is his brother.  Enough from me--read the marvelous essay for yourself and allow all of your feelings to play out.

I also want to tell you about “Ruin Porn,” by Lucile Barker.  For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term: “ruin porn” describes photos of houses and industrial sites that have fallen into dramatic disrepair.  There are several websites devoted to the genre.  Ruin porn appeals to the sense of nostalgia in all of us.  I do not mean mere cultural nostalgia—who the hell wants to relive Disco?—but a more personal kind of nostalgia.  So why is nostalgia so haunting?  Even the nostalgia of people we do not know can haunt us for a long while.  In fact, the nostalgia of made-up people can be very affecting—how else to explain our emotional attachment to the perpetual returns of Charles Ryder in Brideshead Revisited? The explanation is that memory is one of the most powerful psychological levers of being a human being.  And that is why everyone will enjoy Lucile Barker’s essay, even though it is about people we ourselves did not know.  Instead, we will come to know them and empathize with them by what they have left behind.

Finally, on a personal note, as many of you who follow me on Facebook will know, everything I make from my own writing goes toward keeping my infirm parents living in dignity and freedom in their own home.  Please consider downloading one of my titles from my virtual bookshelf on Amazon here.

If you don’t have a Kindle, you’ll be happy to learn that the Kindle App downloads for free onto a wide variety of devices here.

Many of my titles are also available on the Nook from Barnes and Noble here.

And the film about my struggles to care for my parents, Someday You, which many of you have been waiting for, is now available from Amazon.

My family and I thank you for your support!