January 28, 2026
Every author has their own
process, their own style, and their own unique point of view. Each of us has very
definite preferences when it comes to those things that are on the periphery of
the production of our work: time of day for best results, type of music at play
(if any), and perhaps even favorite talismans that must be present in the
vicinity of “where the magic happens”, in order for the writing process to go
smoothly.
Seriously, the only dedicated group of
practitioners that I’ve ever seen even more finicky than authors are avowed Bingo
fanatics.
One can attempt to circumvent the
“process”, but in my experience that never ends well. It causes, at the very
least, a lot of re-thinking. But at most, trying to speed things up can sometimes
result in epic slowdowns instead.
What rules there are when it
comes to the art and/or craft of writing are almost always to do with syntax
and punctuation. You do need some talent, but you don’t need truckloads of it. Because
a lot of what one does when one writes is craft—and craft can be
learned.
I’ve been a published author
since 2007, and in the next week, my 71st title will be available
for release from my publisher, Bookstrand.com. Being an author is the career I
dreamed of when I didn’t believe it could happen. That didn’t stop me from
writing manuscripts. I wrote plenty, most of which will likely never see the
light of day. They were mine in the way that a pianist may exercise her fingers
over the keyboard, producing tunes that are in fact evidence of craft in motion.
I’m in the process right now
of sketching out my 72nd title. The last couple I rushed through the
opening phases and I’m here to tell you I won’t do that again. I love what I
do, every aspect of it. I’m not, I’m sad to say, fond of or even very good at
promoting my work. I’m a writer because I love to write. I know now, as I never
understood as a child, that love came to me through my genes.
My father was a writer at
heart, a man who began as a teen to take pen to paper to produce poems and very
short little stories. But when he was in his senior year of high school, his
father died. This was in the 1930s, and in those days a young man, as he was,
whose mother had been widowed, left school and found a job to support his
mother and himself.
He died when I was a child and
I have no idea how he truly felt about that. Except, being a young man who
turned his back on what he loved in order to do his duty, I can only guess. By
the time he was a husband himself, and a father, he would have made peace with
how things had turned out. I don’t believe once he went to work that he ever
truly picked up pen and pad again. I found remnants of his work from when he
was a young man, still dreaming his own dreams. No later work was found. So
perhaps he decided to just let that dream go.
My memories are of a loving
and smiling man, a man who loved to pull pranks. This tells me now, with my
adult understanding, that he made peace with his life, and lived to the best of
his ability.
But I also know that while
that might have been so, it wasn’t all. My mother told me, when I was old
enough to understand, that he had made her promise that if anything happened to
him, his son was not to be pulled out of school to go to work. It was my
father’s wish that his son would have the freedom to choose his own future.
And so, when my brother was in
his senior year of high school, and his father died, my mother insisted
he finish his education. He attended Teacher’s College after high school and
then, as he assumed the teacher’s role that he held until he retired, he also attended
university courses every summer until first earning his B.A. and then his
Master’s.
Our father would have been
proud—and I believe with all my heart he would have been proud of us both.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
