What Does it Really Mean to be a Published Author?

by Lauri Ellis

The dream of many is to be a published author. Those same ones do not realize they may be “published” already, depending on the definition envisioned.

The phrase “published author” may make you think of money as a reward for the endless hours of writing and re-writing. You may imagine a book or magazine publisher accepting your work for commercial publication, with recognition—your “name in lights.”

Everything has a price. The cost of that dream may be hurting your health. Have you suffered years of anguish, too much caffeine, alcohol, nicotine, junk food, and antacid tablets? Are neck pain, backaches, stomachaches, and headaches your constant companions? Are you stealing time from family and friends? Have you developed a rep as a grouch? Do you deal with other unhealthy frustrations as you try to beat back piles of rejection slips? Is that all there is? Is commercialism the only definition of a published author?

The words “publish” and “public” are connected. To “publish” means to make something available to the public. Your reading of this writing is proof of its publication.

What “Published Writing” Really Means

You may think of your casual writing as unpublished, but in reality, unless it is in a shoebox in the attic, you published when you delivered it to another person or persons.

You may have written a letter to a teacher. Did you thank her for her excellent work with your kids? She may have framed it and put it up on the wall or in a school newsletter. She may have been at the “end of her rope” until she received that letter, which gave her hope and renewed her sense of purpose.

About twenty years ago, an elderly friend burst into my house in hysterical tears, begging for help. Her sister had filed a court petition to become the guardian of their mother, whom my friend had been taking care of for years. She just received notice of the action and court hearing date, set for a few weeks away.

The sister, who lived in another state, wanted to take their mother out of her care, accusing her of trying to murder the 90+-year-old mother by starvation.

My friend’s attorney told her it would cost $10,000 for him to fight it and she did not have the money. I was able to calm her down and tell her: “We can handle this job all by ourselves!”

Mutual friends had cared for the mother for a week, so I got their input, typed it up as an affidavit (a sworn written statement used as evidence in court) and sent it back to them to check it over. If correct, they were to have their signatures notarized and return it to me.

I also wrote up an affidavit of my own experience caring for the woman and my longstanding knowledge about the home environment, the dedication of the care provider, and the daily care the woman was receiving. I explained that the alleged “murderous” activity consisted entirely of a diet recommended by the American Diabetes Association, which caused her to lose some weight. The woman screamed all day long, every day, until a local doctor found her blood sugar was extremely high. The diet fixed the problem.

I also noted that the sister and her attorney were in violation of the requirement to notify all interested parties to give them a chance to protest before a court hearing was scheduled, which they did not do.

Then the conflict of interest: The accusing daughter took the mother’s house some years before, in return for transporting her to Mexico for cancer treatment, but the mother took back a “life estate,” so the daughter couldn’t sell the property until the mother died. She knew the mother would not last long in a nursing home, in which she intended to place her.

I had that document notarized as well, and it cost me $120 to file (publish) both papers ($60 each) at the courthouse. Court documents are public. Anybody can view them.

What was the outcome? They promptly withdrew the claim and canceled the hearing. We never heard another word from the court. My friend was so thankful that her mother could remain in her care as she had promised. The mother lived out her days on a beautiful ranch in a lovely setting with excellent care.

Was that writing valuable? Was it beneficial? Was it published? Yes! Yes! Yes! Was I paid? Yes! Many times over, in tears and hugs of appreciation, which are far more valuable than the dollars I would not accept. Did it benefit my health? Absolutely! Doing good for another gives you an exquisite and satisfying feeling that has a very calming and beneficial effect.

Your Writing Can Have Far-Reaching Effects

Sometimes tragedy spurs beneficial writing. Do we undervalue it in our minds? When you revisit those writings in your memory, you may see that the benefits far outweigh the original intention.

My youngest son and his wife lost their firstborn child, who was stillborn only a few days before the expected delivery date. He asked me to write an obituary for the newspaper, while he went to buy even more flowers for his wife and sent some to their doctor as well.

As I thanked folks for the many cards and flowers, I also acknowledged their doctor by name. I thanked her for her excellent care during the pregnancy and most of all for her tender compassion and tears during the tragic event, saying we were so very, very sorry she had to go through this, her first stillborn delivery.

She came to the grave when we buried the baby. Too choked up to talk, she just smiled and left again. When I saw her later, she said, referring to the obituary, “That is simply NEVER done! Even people at my husband’s work brought the article to him in amazement.”

I thought nothing of it, but it meant the world to that young doctor who took all the blame to her heavy heart, in spite of knowing in her brain that these things are often entirely unforeseen, unpreventable and are no one’s fault.

That writing was a bit of a lifeline to her as she felt she was drowning in shame and guilt trying to see what she missed. She even sent tissue samples to San Francisco (from Oregon) to find a reason, which came back that the placenta just shut down prematurely and the baby suffocated. The ultrasound was normal the day before.

Maybe that writing helped others to think twice before blaming a doctor when things go wrong. They are people with feelings too.

Sharing Our Stories Can Help Others

We all are uptight, rushed and aggravated a lot of the time it seems. Then if health problems enter the picture, it can be overwhelming. If we try to find the humor in everyday situations, they not only make indelible memories, but also create writing opportunities that may cheer up someone else.

One of the most challenging conditions to deal with is when a spouse succumbs to dementia. An elderly acquaintance was in such a situation, and I offered to sit with her husband so she could go to church. She could not take him anymore because he would suddenly stand up during the service and start cussing, loud enough to rattle the rafters!

I was also trying to keep track of my teenage son who was chasing girls, so I told him I needed him to come with me to help, because “we all need to do some community service now and then.”

I didn’t know the gentleman or know what to expect. We found he was a very tall, gangly, ex-boxer turned rancher who was up in his eighties. So there he was, shadowboxing around the house all morning and he would suddenly bounce right up to you with a fist at your face. He scared the bejeebers out of us both! After that, I had to go there alone!

My son still hunkers down and scowls at me if I even look like I might ask him to do something a little wonky. “Don’t you DARE give me any of that ‘community service crap!’” he says, even now, when he has teenage sons of his own.

“But think of all the excitement you missed!” I reply.

Excitement is right! The next time I went, the old gent had recently gotten out of the hospital where they repaired an aorta aneurysm, so he had a massive scar down his chest and many stitches.

When I arrived, his wife told me he was in the yard and said he pees out there and not to worry about it. So the first thing he did was haul a ladder out and prop it against the house and started up.

I caught him and said: “Hey, if you hold the ladder, I’ll go up and clean the gutter for you.” That worked, but we had to do all the gutters around the entire house before he would stop. Phew! Next, he started reaching further and further into his pickup bed, so I cleaned that too. I didn’t want him to pop a stitch.

Finally, I thought it was about time he would need to pee, so I went into the house to give him some privacy.

As I glanced out the kitchen window, I saw him across the yard. He’d just emerged from the garage on a rickety bicycle and had headed out the drive to the road. That road went down a steep hill, so I gasped in terror and ran . . . ah, waddled after him hollering: “I don’t think your doctor would want you to do that!” He loudly growled back: “I don’t need no eight-year-old doctor telling ME what to do!” and off he went.

The neighbor was standing on his porch and his eyebrows about shot off the top of his head as he watched the show. As I huffed and puffed after my run-a-way gramps, I was hoping he would turn at the cross street and head for town because that road was uphill a bit and should slow him down. Thankfully, he did just that, and I managed to catch up. I was so afraid he would fall and spill blood and guts all over the place.

What do you say to an old man on a bike? You cannot swat his butt and send him home like a little kid. So, panting I stammered: “Hey! I thought you were going to let me have a ride!”

“Well, if you think you can . . . then here ya go”, he boomed.

I grabbed the bike and turned it around, and took off on the wobbly thing and hoped he’d follow. He did!

Back in the garage, I told him: “Your bearings are shot. I will put new ones in for you.” I quickly removed the wheel and put it in my pickup. “How ‘bout something to eat?” I coaxed. “Come in the house. I’ll fix you a sandwich.” So in we went.

When his wife returned, I told her of the excitement adding, “You had better lock up that bike.”

“He hasn’t touched that bike in twenty years!” she moaned.

“Well, he likes it now.”

I am in her shoes now, so I often think and laugh about that adventure, and I am so thankful my charge is unable to ride a bike!

A New Way to Think About Reaching Readers

This story about the old gent and his bike has cheered a lot of folks up over the years, in letters and emails. This time, just for a lark, I sent it and the other experiences in this post to Writing and Wellness, never expecting a reply. But, since you are reading this, obviously, Colleen published it! So this is yet another example of my published writing. I hope you enjoyed it!

What have you written that you did not think of as “writing?” Did you write a letter to a friend, an email, a blog post, a comment on a website? Or maybe a card to a grandchild, a note to a neighbor, a letter to the editor of a local newspaper?

You should visit your memory bank now and then because you may find the most beneficial and memorable stories in there. Perhaps you could pull them out and write about them. It might make an interesting, encouraging article or book, which you will publish someday!

Even if your published story fails to benefit your wallet, it may very well help a reader, and isn’t that what we’re doing this for, anyway?

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Lauri Ellis has done many jobs over her three-quarters of a century: leather carver, PBX operator, toilet scrubber, receptionist, tax consultant, school bus driver, adult foster care. The most interesting and fulfilling activities allowed her to stay home to raise her five children; building, baking, sewing, butchering, canning, teaching, etc.

She home-schooled three of her five kids for two years and then went to college with them. However, her elderly mother’s need for care and day-care of grandchildren came first. Now she’s a 24/7 care provider for her paralyzed husband.

Lauri loves to learn. Her computer is her window to the world.