Beth Taylor Published “Bless Them Father, for They Have Sinned”

Beth Taylor has her book “Bless Them Father, for They Have Sinned,” ready for public consumption on Thursday, August, 30, 2012. To read about the book or to get your copy, visit: blessthemfather.com.

Get This Book Published … Please

I have this great t-shirt with the sentence: “Yes, we can read. And a few of us can even write!”

The statement refers to the fact that Mississippi gets more than its share of grief around the country for the stereotypical branding of being home to a bunch of “dumb hicks.” Nothing could be further from the truth. The t-shirt, created by The Cirlot Agency, Inc. is part of a campaign which combats the erroneous stereotypes that plague Mississippi.

Among the Mississippi writers are Eudora Welty, Tennessee Williams, William Faulkner, Beth Henley, John Grisham, Jill Conner Browne, and me … yes, me. Okay, my name is not kicked around in literary circles, or stamped on the covers of books in the public library or your home library … but it will be one day soon.

The trouble is getting into the office door of an agent or publisher. A particular picture comes to mind when I think of trying to get in the door. It’s from a sex education class back in the late 1960’s. The nuns had this 16mm movie which was shown to us with our parents permission. One of the scenes had the female egg being bombarded with squiggly sperm all fighting to get into that little egg. So many pounded their head into that egg, never getting a chance to break that outer shell. Then without any warning one of those headstrong swimmers gets inside. We all know what happens next, and what pops out in about nine months.

It’s sort of the same in the writing and publishing stages of getting a book from thought to book shelf. Mine is a memoir … meaning I lived the story and put it on paper, or at least on my computer hard drive. It’s a tough subject and some agents are reluctant to take on not only an unknown author, but an unknown author with a book about child sexual abuse in the Catholic Church.

However, I keep trying to find that agent or publisher who is up to the challenge. I believe my story needs to be told. We haven’t heard from too many female survivors, nor have we heard from many survivors who were so young at the time of the abuse. Also, we haven’t heard about the difficulties of dealing with the Catholic Church and its arcane power structure.

If you get a chance, check out the web site about my book and about me. Also, please read the excerpt and leave a message on the Guestbook page. Maybe you can help me locate an agent or publisher just by leaving a message. Or maybe, you will know an agent or publisher you can call and ask to review the material.

Here’s the web site: http://www.itsspilledmilk.com

Please tell your friends the t-shirt is right about Mississippi … “Yes, we can read. And a few of us can even write!” And that includes Beth Taylor.

America’s Next Great Pundit

Note: The Washington Post is searching for “America’s Next Great Pundit.” Below is my 400-word entry on a timely topic. Please wish me luck!

The Real Point of Reality TV

In this time of 24-hour cable news channels, instant messaging, telephones from which television can be viewed, and the always connected internet, there is an abundance of so-called “information.”

But is there “TMI” … too much information? Recently Americans have watched as parents with eight little munchkins raised their brood amid camera and sound crews chronicling their every milestone. The cable network TLC has taken viewers up close and personal for diaper changes, potty training, and the first day of school. Viewers have also been brought along for the reality ride of bickering sides in the divorce saga of this otherwise cute family.

Unfortunately, viewers have also been treated to the antics, and break-up, of a family of outrageous men who build motorcycles on American Chopper. Turning on the TV has brought about entertainment with contestants surviving time on remote islands, want-to-be designers and chefs enduring battles of their trade, and selecting spouses from a gaggle of suitors. There have even been accusations that an unmarried California woman was artificially impregnated and gave birth to eight children in hopes of landing her own reality TV show.

It all came to a crescendo when the world watched with fear and amazement as a run-away balloon traveled miles with, allegedly, a six year old boy trapped inside. With news choppers in pursuit and news anchors doing live commentary, the balloon made a soft landing in a field without its tiny traveler. He, miraculously, walked into his family’s living room after the balloon landing, seemingly puzzled about the attention.

It wasn’t until the next day that this impish daredevil slipped on national TV that his aerial antics were done “for the show.” It appears his father, Richard Heene, masterminded this mesmerizing hoax in an attempt to become television’s next “reality star.”

Should the balloon boy story have been shown “live” to all corners of the world? Of course. If the story had been true, if little Falcon Heene had actually been inside the balloon, his survival would have been miraculous or his demise would have been tragic. Instead what viewers have been left with are parents who were willing to exploit their six year old son — who ironically vomited on national TV — for an attempt to become financially compensated reality celebrities. In other words, the Heene’s have taken the “real” out of reality TV.

Sleep Switch Invention Needed

It’s after 2:00 a.m. as I sit here writing. Most sane people are asleep in their beds with visions of something dancing in their heads. But not me.

Oh no, there is nothing sane or normal about me and my sleeping habits. Some friends say I have my days and nights mixed up … sort of like babies. I usually explain that I was born at night (8:30 p.m.) and that my brain and body are wired to work best at night. Actually, on most nights that’s a true statement.

But there are other times … like now … that I want to snuggle under the covers in my “Princess Bed,” close my eyes and dream of something really good. That something might be sitting on a beach in Belize with most of me in the water, under an umbrella, drinking umbrella drinks. But no … this brain of mine won’t go into sleep mode.

My multi-bizillion-bite HardDrive of a brain just keeps churning and churning. Some of the churning is good, some is not. For a writer the churning is usually something to applaud. It’s certainly better than “writer’s block,” but I don’t want to write tonight.

For weeks I have been working on the business plan for a new venture involving my children’s book series. Unfortunately my computer got a case of that animal flu and coughed up some of what I had saved. I did a re-write, but now I don’t like the re-write. It’s sort of like left-overs that you eat because you remember when you were a kid your mother told you to be happy with what she served because there were starving children in China. Never the less, I keep trying to recreate the words and sentences that got away, but nothing sounds as good as I remember.

Consequently, words and sentences keep rattling around inside of the cavernous area between my ears … sort of like that big silver sphere I bounced inside the pinball machines played during my college years.

Surely somebody can invent a “Sleep Switch.” Think of the money to be made. More than half the people I know claim they can’t sleep. Yes, there are sleep aids but you have to keep buying those. I want a one-time, self-installed switch. Think how much easier that would make things. My soon-to-be 80-year-old mother wouldn’t have to call me most every night asking what she can do to fall asleep, or complain to me the next morning about how she couldn’t sleep.

All I want is  a simple voice -controlled switch imbedded  behind the ear … just hold down the switch, state a time to shut off and a time to come on. With that comes blissful sleep providing time to turn off the noise in my head, recharge my brain batteries, let the good thoughts and words rise to the top, and let me snuggle in my bed while visions of something dancing in my head.

And if when I awaken there is a small amount of sand between my toes and a paper umbrella in my hand, I will be the happiest writer still waiting to be published.

I continually learn about writing, but that’s an on-going process and not something I have learned about the time of waiting to be published.

Frustration … that’s probably the biggest concept about which I am learning. There’s the frustration of getting somebody interested in my work — or not — by just reading a one page letter. That letter isn’t about writing … it’s about advertising and selling. That’s selling an agent or publisher on the idea that maybe I am a good writer with a good story which is well told … much the same way as selling beer, deodorant, toilet tissue, and other non-literary stuff.

Patience … is another hard-learned lesson. I thought I had learned patience in dealing with my divorce many years ago, but that is nothing compared to waiting to be published. First I have to the find the names of agents and publishers. Then there is the task of figuring out if they even accept the broad category of my work. Follow that with sending the query letter — otherwise known as the sales pitch — then waiting and waiting and waiting some more. These people have no concept of time, meaning the time the person on the other end of that letter is waiting for a reply. It’s sort of like watching grass grow from the seed stage to the cutting point. Noah waited less time for the great rains to end.

Thick skin … is a body part grown from this process. How many rejection letters is one expected to endure. Most people are nice with their replies: “I’m not the right person to represent you. This process is very subjective and I hope you will find someone more suited to handle your topic.” Nicely said, but …

Loving my friends and families … learning that love is unconditional. I now know how John Kennedy Jr. felt when continually being asked about passing the Bar exam. Everybody means well, wants to see me succeed at this game and be happy, and they even want to pay money for my books. But each time they ask about getting published I watch their faces drop when I say “not yet.” It’s not that I feel less worthy or more stupid, it’s that moment of silence between my answer and the next words to be uttered. I usually break the silence with, “I’m still trying and I promise to let you know when the contract finally comes.

With age comes wisdom … that’s a strange one. I’ll be 55-years-old in a few weeks. I’ve learned that not yet being published doesn’t mean I am a bad writer, or a bad salesperson at getting my ideas across, or unworthy of getting published, or less valuable as a person or writer because this is taking longer that I expected. With age I have learned everything has a time and a season; and that no matter what happens, the sun is coming up tomorrow, I am loved, and as long as my fingers still work and my brain still churns I’ll be writing news words and still waiting for the day when my dreams come true and my books are on the bookshelves!

It’s been a tough week. Got out of town shoot Sat., then quick edit, followed by watching LSU play Vandy. Still need biz plan rewrite, ugh!

Slaving away in the editing suite. I WILL finish this project today!

Worked all night and made real progress … that’s why I’m going to do it again tonight!

Too much to do today to accomplish what I absolutely needed. Now it’s me and the video editor until the sun comes up! I hear a coffee run.

Stayed up most of last night working on the cover art for my children’s books. That means today MUST be dedicate TOTALLY to client work!