Writing With Ghosts

Memories are odd things. They rise from the mists of our minds, often not summoned, triggered by some outside stimuli. Some are like sunshine, bringing a smile and warm fuzzies to our souls. Some are old scars, rent open, feeling fresh and raw. It happens to everyone at some point. But for a writer, at least for me, they in turn become fodder for stories; a fresh twist to a plot, a deeper look into the inner workings of a character, settings - I could rattle off a host of uses for them, but often, they offer encouragement to keep going, to keep writing.  No matter if things cause me to feel like a Failure, with a capital F, spelled self-doubt in my abilities. Those particular memories are centered around those who had faith in my writing.

Flash forward to 1992; by then, I had won several awards and was included in many poetry anthologies. None with my name on the cover. Back then, it was not uncommon to be paid in copy, and I had quite the bookshelf. Then I saw it. An ad in USA Weekend, a newspaper magazine looking for ghost stories for the upcoming Halloween season.  Over 500 stories were submitted; they selected the top 100 for an anthology, after running the first 6 in the magazine. I found myself among them.  Of course, we were paid in copy but retained the rights. But it’s what happened next that burns the brightest for me.

My son was 11 years old, and my daughter close to 6. We were in Borders, a bookstore, when my son cried out, all excited, “Mom! Mom, they’ve got your book!”  My name wasn’t on the cover, but the look on his face, and the pride that shone in his eyes! For that moment, I wasn’t just Mom, I was somebody. I saw it mirrored in his sister’s face too. In their world, I was famous! Someone to brag about. At odd moments, over the years, he’d say to me, “So when are you going to have another out?”

I lost my son shortly after his 20^th birthday. But every now and then, I can still hear him. “When are you going to have another out?” Sometimes, that’s all I need to sit with fingers clacking away on the keyboard.

I can’t help but wonder if other authors write with ghosts at their shoulder, cheering them on.

Judy Snyder

Twisted Tales, Widow's Dance