October 2006: I recently came across a brand new writer (teenager) posting her first work on ff.net. I could not believe some of the vicious and mean reviews this child recieved from some who had never even posted a story! Constructive criticism is well and good, but I appreciate it more from someone who has actually put themselves out there to face the fires along with the rest of us. To those who like to consider themselves the board police I offer this quote from Teddy Roosevelt.
“It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled, or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again, who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause; who at best, knows the triumph of high achievement; and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.”
I am American (or as my daddy used to say: American by birth, Southern by the grace of God), a wife, the mother of three (two sons and a daughter), and the grandmother of two (Lance-4 and Sarah-4wks as of May 17, 06). ((In case you haven't figured it out, Lance is the inspiration I use for my young Estel.)) I work at a small liberal arts university, edit and publish a magazine for a WWII Bomb Group (B-17s), and teach a Wednesday night ladies class at my church. One of my favorite things to do is sit on my porch swing and write on my lap top. I love reading, watching movies, and have just begun trying my hand at fan fiction writing.
I used to review under the name Beling.
My favorite poem is Ulysses by Alfred Lord Tennyson. Below are some of my favorite portions from this wonderful work.
I am a part of all I have met; yet all experience is an arch wherethro' gleams that untraveled world whose margin fades forever and ever when I move.
Old age hath yet his honor and his toil; death closes all: but something ere the end, some work of noble note, may yet be done, not unbecomming men that strove with gods.
Come, my friends, tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Tho much is taken, much abides; and tho we are not now that strength which in old days moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are; one equal temper of heroic hearts, made weak by time and fate, but strong in will to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
I leave you with this thought. "Freedom is only a word until you have been close to losing it." Taylor
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