This past week has played havoc upon my body and mind.
For nearly forty-eight hours I waged a war with a virulent strain of a stomach flu that saw me losing twelve pounds. YES, I could stand losing the pounds, but I don't recommend anyone using the flu diet.
Once the excruciatingly painful projectile evacuation of my tender innards stopped, I was weak to the point of actually walking unsteadily into walls. I walked like a drunk woman with nothing more than water fermenting inside me.
Yesterday, the first day I felt somewhat...and I DO mean 'somewhat' normal when I'd surface from healing sleep, Kat hit me with the Dear Author
exposé of plagiarism.
My heart is heavy now. A piece of me turned
to ash just like that.
Kat and I waded through a
huge firestorm less than two years ago. Never in our wildest imaginations would we have said the authors we knew from that battleground and were now elsewhere, had
feet of such shifting sands of clay.
I do not understand the need to take from others.
Many's a time I am reading a story by an author who gives me some amazing turns of phrases that I find myself saying..."Gee, I wish I'd written that!"
One such author is
Anne N. Reisser,
whom doesn't seem to be writing anymore...
but I have everyone
of her books and read, re-read and cherish them. (How I wish they had released in hard cover!)
I suppose I could steal some of the phrases I love of Anne N.'s, but I'd like to think I am bright enough to come up with phrases of my own that are equally powerful , geared towards my segment, and most definitely creating what is MINE!
Besides the phrases I fell in love with, I fell in love with her sauciness. She puts her heroines in situations that ring true because they were written solely by her to BE true,
not jammed into mine.
The firestorm I'd already battled my way through two years ago made me stronger, but also it left me scarred with a bitter taste you never forget.
I know what it's like to covet. Who doesn't? My son used to date this beautiful young woman who could lift a sketch pad and with a few deft strokes of her charcoal, bring my
well beaked face to life. I would have loved having that talent...but I don't. I can scarcely draw a straight line using a ruler.
Instead I gush over her talent, and then get back to what Nudge and I do.
Once upon a time I'd hoped to write a book and have her illustrate it for me...Wherever you are Danielle, know I will always be awed by your artistry and I pray you found your joy in life.
Today, the first day I am going to venture out into the world, after my flu bout, I am learning the scope of thievery involved in THIS Dear Author exposé.
I don't understand. I can't keep my inner voice Nudge quiet long enough to give me a rest from her active telling voice.
I am heartsick, and I don't know how to respond to this.
To the author caught with her nib in someone else's brain births...are we your brother and sister authors so arrogant and self-absorbed, you could not reach out to us and ask our help in finding your inner voice? Am I that unapproachable?
You are not the first, nor, do I fear will you be the last to quell their fear of that blank page with words that were taken from other creators works...
I am not the Almighty, so I have no answers on how you will or should move beyond this.
One of the authors you plagiarized said you've stolen words, not killed...and she's right. No bodies left their shells to cross into the next soul-phase beyond the Veil
You did not kill, but you maimed the degree of trust we as authors HOPE we share.
You are someone I considered a friend, and towards that end I hope you find your
Phoenix and can rise from the ashes you've created here and flame more humbly and more honorably in the future.
From the Depths of my Despair,