http://www.writers-online.co.uk MARCH 2020^9LETTERS TO THE EDITOR
Margaret James’ article, Go to the Dogs (WM, Feb), was a
salient reminder to me about the wisdom of writing about
what you know. Decades back as a novice scribbler, I
constantly laboured away at writing short stories with a twist
ending in the manner of Roald Dahl. ey were dreadful.
During that time, I had two faithful canine companions,
a Welsh springer called Judy and a little Schipperke called
Winnie. Both rescue dogs. ey’d lie at my heels patiently
waiting until I’d nished writing my current appalling story
and then bound to the door ready for a race through the
nearby woods. It was during one of those walks that Winnie
disappeared. I searched the woods in vain and began to despair
as it was getting dark. It was Judy who found her, sinking in a
boggy spot, up to her neck in mud. She pulled Winnie out by
her scru and carried her back to me. What a story that would
make I thought. Two months later the story was in print.
Published by a national magazine. at led to a monthly series
of animal-orientated stories in that magazine for over fteen
years; and since I was a vet there was plenty of material I could
use. But it was all thanks to Judy for leading me down the
write path.
MALCOLM WELSHMAN
Maincombe, Nr Crewkerne, SomersetA topic of discussion I have seen appear frequently within
the pages of your magazine is that of when to undertake
other of life’s little chores and pleasures and when to
put them to one side and immerse oneself in writing. In
other words, making time to write without neglecting the
purpose and pleasure in our lives.
Well, I had a pretty crappy Christmas and New Year
because, on 20 December, I had to make the decision to
have my dog, a little Sta e cross female of fourteen years
of age, put to sleep. It broke my heart. I am not always
terribly good at making and maintaining friendships with
my fellow human beings but she and I just clicked. She
was my best friend for twelve years.
I know some may read this, sco and say to themselves,
‘It’s just a dog’ or, ‘What’s your point?’ at this point in my
letter. Well, it doesn’t matter to me that she was ‘just’ a dog.
I write this with sadness behind my eyes and heavy in my
throat and chest. And, my point is that, if I could have it, I
would trade in the time I have gained to write and read to
have her distract me again with her wants and needs.
Choose what’s important.
PHILIP SIMONS
Stevington, BedfordshireTIME TO
THINK
I swallowed hard when I read Writers’ Voice (WM, Feb) and read that agents
could be hestitant about taking on authors writing in retirement.
I’m a 76-year old compulsive scribbler, retired two years from the ‘proper
job’ my father prescribed. at work took me to nearly half the countries of the
world, experiencing people, places and cultures with a depth and breadth hardly
feasible in a shorter lifetime.
In ‘retirement’, I’ve completed the Penguin-Random House writing
course, won a local writing competition, had three short stories included in
anthologies, then my rst full publication, a children’s book, went on sale
last November. I spend my days, and some long nights, doing what I always
wanted. Researching and writing novels and short stories.
Many younger writers have innate talent, but life experience is enriched over
years. Is that expertise to be consigned universally to agent’s recycling bins? I’m
hoping not. I contend that there are authors in their literary prime, retired from
the distractions of earlier life, still with years, time and ability, penning works to
enchant readers and satisfy balance sheets.
ERIC OLSEN
Lymington, HampshireDoes age matter?
A huge ‘thank you’ for the joyous Tony Rossiter piece on the style and
technique of Elizabeth Taylor (WM, Feb).
My challenge this year is to read authors that
have not previously been on my radar. e day
after reading the article a copy of Mrs Palfrey at e
Claremont fell into my hands at the charity shop
and I devoured it in one night. Her observations of
the everyday are touching, real and written without
oury language or unnecessary description.
I enjoyed it so much that it has kicked my
writing into new realms and I am embracing
Taylor’s style and nding it sits well with me.
A few words can spark a thousand in the imagination.
JULIA VAUGHAN
Madeley, TelfordA creative spark
Aim in mind
It’s strange how I often nd an article in Writing Magazine dealing with
some problem I have at the time. I was recently asked what I would
like to get from my writing, was it to make a lot of money? Well, even
those who do it for charity want to make a lot of money, so that was a
no-brainer. As Simon Whaley’s article, 2020 Vision (WM, Jan), pointed
out, the question is really what are my writing ambitions? at is a more
complex question. I want readers to feel less stressed so that they can
be more tolerant of each other. I want them to relax and smile at other
people’s foibles rather than look down on them and criticise. Having
that as an aim means writing is not the cul de sac of writing for writing’s
sake but a means to an end and needs to be well written and directed at
an audience.
SULLATOBER DALTON
Faringdon, OxfordNew year, fi rst book
My challenge this year is to read authors that My challenge this year is to read authors that
have not previously been on my radar. e day have not previously been on my radar. e day
after reading the article a copy of after reading the article a copy of
Claremont Claremont
and I devoured it in one night. Her observations of and I devoured it in one night. Her observations of
the everyday are touching, real and written without the everyday are touching, real and written without
oury language or unnecessary description. oury language or unnecessary description.writing into new realms and I am embracing writing into new realms and I am embracing writing into new realms and I am embracing writing into new realms and I am embracing
Taylor’s style and nding it sits well with me.Taylor’s style and nding it sits well with me.Taylor’s style and nding it sits well with me.Taylor’s style and nding it sits well with me.Animal
instinct