MEMOIR

April 28, 2012 at 8:37 pm Leave a comment

It’s been some time since I wrote this piece.
I came across a contest for ‘late bloomers’ asking for an article to be published in an anthology.
As most of you writers well know, you submit and never hear from the publisher, even after repeated queries about the status of your piece.
I now share this unpublished work with you, my consistent readers.

NEVER TOO LATE
By
Walt Trizna

I have been a late-bloomer all my life. The following article will prove that to be true. If you also fall into this category, or have yet to bloom, read my story and know there is always hope as long as you persevere.
Spending thirty-four years as a scientist, I never felt totally comfortable. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy the work; I did. I found it difficult to share the enthusiasm of those working around me. However, I do feel a great sense of accomplishment for what those years produced. Now that segment of my early life is over.
I was a late-bloomer in marriage. At the age of thirty-six, when I married, most of my contemporaries were well into their first or perhaps second marriage. Now twenty-eight years later I find the wait was worth it for I found the perfect woman to share my life.
The primary focus of this article, however, is my current career as a writer. Looking back, I had the stirrings early in my life to follow that dream. But my environment and need for security won out and the yearning diminished but never died.
My first attempt at writing was in high school. A poem of mine was published in an anthology of high school writers and I knew I was on the road to becoming the next Robert Frost, whose poetry I adored. I continued writing poetry for approximately twenty-five years while in college, in the military and pursing my career in science. The result of my efforts was more than twenty-five poems published in anthologies and newspapers. During this phase of my writing addiction I made one dollar, a token of gratitude from a woman who enjoyed one of my poems. I am not known as a big spender, but even I would have a struggle living on four cents a year.
Toward the end of my twenty-five year poetry endeavor, I married and had two daughters. Actually, I continue writing poetry to this day. Each of my daughters gets a poem on her birthday recapping that year in their life. That tradition began when they were two and will continue until my writing career comes to a close.
Now as I approach my sixty-fourth year, I am a fulltime writer. Eleven years ago I began to write short stories of horror and science fiction. In this career I think of myself more as a bud than a bloom. I shall only bloom with the nourishment of the public.
I have published over twenty horror and science fiction short stories. When I write science fiction I try to use as much science fact as I can in order to make the story chilling with an air of possibility. I have also written three novels, one was published by Mélange Books when I was in my early sixties, one is now seeking a home and one still needs to grow some.
I have made little money, but at this stage of my career, that is of little importance. What warms my heart is when people read my words and find momentary escape from this confusion we call life.
Do I enjoy writing? That is a question I constantly ponder. I have a vivid imagination, ideas race through my mind. When it comes to sitting down before a blank tablet with pencil in hand, the enjoyment I experienced with imagery is tinged with a hint of anxiety in the effort of putting those images into words. Only when the piece is finished can I relax and savor a sense of accomplishment.
Now comes the effort to try and get the story published. Once again euphoria slams against the brick wall of reality. There are times when recognition comes quickly, but more often it takes years for a publisher to find value in my words. I have stories that have yet to see the light of publication, but I keep trying.
Have I reached to stage to refer to myself as a late-bloomer? I feel more like a ripening bud that will hopefully bloom before it shrinks and dies.

Entry filed under: BIO, memoir, Walt Trizna. Tags: , .

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