One Perfect Moment In A Writers Life, by Josh Stallings

Q: What single moment of being a published writer has been the most memorable?

A: Not a single moment, but kaleidoscopic moments spent with fellow writers, reviewers, agents and readers. Moments I’d never have had if not for being published.

At a signing for my memoir a woman stepped up speaking softly through tears, “You told my story. Facts are different, but the feelings… The feelings, they’re mine.” 

Crossing the Mississippi river on a ferry, rain drizzling down listening to my wife Erika deep in conversation about the pain of lost children with the ever brilliant agent Amy Benson-Moore. I didn’t know at that point that she would become my agent, I just knew I dug her honest cool post punk vibe. Dug the way she really listened to Erika. At a gumbo party in Algiers I saw a wealthy patron of writers dismiss Erika as a “writer’s-wife” thus not important enough to chat with. The wealthy patron failed two litmus tests in that moment. The first was not seeing all people as equally valuable. The second was dismissing the brilliance of the smartest person I know.   

The first LA Noir Bar, hosted by Eric Beetner and Stephen Blackmoore, was also my first public reading. Standing in a noisy west side bar reading Beautiful Naked & Dead to a group of writers and readers I felt like I had found my place in the world. Or at least my next safe harbor on my life’s journey. That night I met and became friends with the fabulous Holly West. 

Noir Bars have been great places to hone the craft of public reading, and to meet other wonderful writers. In one sleazy bar with a scratchy fuzzing sound system that I had to read over, I met Scott Montgomery. He was head of Mystery People at Austin’s Book People book store. He’s forgotten more about crime fiction than most of us know. He also has personal tales about almost every great crime writer. Somehow he heard my words over the drunken hoots and hollers. He took the book I offered, read it and has been a friend and supporter ever since. 

In the pre-Muskkk TWITTER it was a solid place to meet folks. My first book was out and it had been wonderfully embraced by bloggers and indi reviewers. A revered crime writer/english professor came after me for misspellings and punctuation mistakes in my tweets. I was fucking gutted. It seemed to prove that dyslexics didn’t belong typing without a team of editors, and maybe not even then. It tossed me back in grammar school, back to being the “dummy.” Until three amazing reviewers, McDroll, Sabrina E. Ogden, and Elizabeth A. White rushed to my defense. They all loved my work and were unafraid to shove my books on all they met. I was proud that my book had engendered such deep feelings in women who were strangers at the time.

My life has been haunted by lack of self esteem. As I type these words I fear they won’t be enough. I learned not to say things like that publicly from Holly West. Three books into my career she pointed out that I needed to stop talking myself down, it came off as false modesty. She was right. The feelings were real but they could be received wrong. Every creative I know is riddled with self doubt. It comes with the job. But at a certain point you have to stop publicly talking about it. Privately sure we bitch and moan. Publicly it sounds like Ryan Gosling asking, “Does this shirt makes me look ugly?”

I used to think enough winning moments would heal my talent dysmorphia.

I used to think if I amassed enough money I would feel safe. 

I used to think serenity came from beyond the borders of myself.

I am friends with and share mutual admiration with some of the finest writers working today. Though not wealthy I have more than a hippy kid could have dreamt possible. I have long days of joy, peace, and serenity and I know they come from inner work. 

Asking what single moment of being a published writer has been the most memorable is like asking what was the most memorable moment in a life I’ve shared with Erika, Dylan, and Jared. They have been brilliant, funny, silly, painfully heart breaking, and perfectly cracked. In the words of Erika, “They’ve been a lot of things.”

Last week I was on the ferry from Vineyard Haven to Woods Hole. Jared and I had spent an amazing week with my brother and his family on Martha’s Vineyard. We laughed so hard our sides hurt. We ate swordfish pulled from the sea, then tossed on a grill by my brother and son. It was so damn good it’d make your taste buds cry with joy. We napped and watched Olympic basketball. Programmed2Thrash, a techno hardcore band my son writes for and sings in dropped its first album. We talked music and books. We hiked trails in the woods and by the sea. It was slow time that went by too quickly.

On the ferry, Jared sits beside me watching light travel across the water illuminating the sails of a boat, a simple smile peeks across his face. I don’t ask but I suspect this is one of those perfect moments we will both remember. 

*****

Find Programmed2Thrash at https://programmed2thrash.bandcamp.com/album/programmed2t-h-r-a-s-h

                                               *****
I am reading: The Ministry of Time by Kaliane Bradley