“That tailor Billings, from Tennessee, wrote poetry that Homer

and Shakespeare couldn’t begin to come up to; but nobody would

print it, nobody would read it but his neighbors…and they

laughed at it.”

Extract from Captain Stormfield’s Visit

to Heaven, Mark Twain

In Extract from Captain Stormfield’s Visit to Heaven by Mark Twain, the good captain learns from an pipe-smoking angel named Sandy McWilliams that writers are - in heaven - regarded as prophets; and esteemed in accordance with their celestial rank.  The tailor Billings, who Sandy explains was run out of his own town and left to die on account of his ill-received writing, walks in parade beside his co-prophets Jeremiah and Buddha.  The great bard (and one of my heros), William Shakespeare, walks backwards and spreads flower pedals at the feet of Edward J. Billings.  Homer, for his part, waits on the tailor at banquet.  These are not bad images for a terrestrial writer to conjure.  And though I do not expect to be shuffled ahead of the likes of Shakespeare, Homer, or Mark Twain in the next, in this life I shall write.

Just as I manage to keep my next-life station in check, I also keep my current station in perspective.  I do not expect to be run out of town on account of my writing, nor mockingly crowned with cabbage - a fate suffered by the great prophet Billings.  But being read a little more, printed a little more wouldn’t be such a bad thing, huh?  It is not news to anyone who read this far that writing is a lonely business.  I stay up late at night while the rest of the house sleeps or sneak off to the coffee shop alone on a Saturday morning to engage my passion for writing.  Usually to the same end: “Thank you for your recent submission…”  Validation is a rarity.  I attended a writer’s conference at U of Penn several years ago.  During morning introductions I mentioned that I had a story published on-line by a local literary magazine.  Another attendee shouted out that it was, in her opinion, among the best the magazine had published.  I could have driven home right then, skipping the full two days for which I had paid.  That sort of validation I suspect will need be enough until I obtain prophet status.

Shamelessly, thebillingstailor.com is a venue for such validation.  Fellow Writers - read and comment on the good and the bad (I’ve got thick skin, I swear, and I want to improve).  Also, send me your stuff.  I’ll return the favor and add some of your stories here as well.  Publishers and Literary Agents - read and be wowed!  Hear yourself whisper, “This guy’s got it!”  Then call me.  I’ve got a deep arsenal of stories (many only twice rejected) ready to print.  Everyone Terrestrial - bookmark thebillingstailor.com & visit frequently to see some of my recently published works, as well as a piece that could stand some real criticism.  Offer said criticism so I can keep the work moving forward.  And please, please - if you read this far (a whole web page. Wow!), post a comment.  In the words of that guy Dirty Harry towered over as he guessed at his bullet expenditure:  “I gots to know!”