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I haven’t entered a writing contest in ages. Then I came across Editor Unleashed/Smashwords “Why I Write” essay contest and gave it a go. Popular ranking is now open for you to rank the many submitted essays. You can vote with 1 to five stars where 1 is terrible and 5 is excellent. To rank a story after you read it, click “Rate Thread.”

All stories are posted in the Editor Unleashed Forum. You might notice that all the latest entries have rankings and the earlier ones show very few. That’s what I get for submitting my story in November, which I have copied below for those not interested in voting. I would appreciate your honest vote on my story. Texas-sized thanks. I hope you don’t think title sounds cheesy. I tried to be different and play on “Olly olly oxen free.”

Folly Folly and Fumble-Free

I trip over spoken words more often than the worst football player fumbles the football. Not only do my thoughts and lips fail to synchronize, but also when they do, people sometimes gape as soon as they hear nasally sounds stumble out of my mouth. They mistake “ride” for “wide” and “rare” for “wear.” With writing, I don’t dodge words beginning with “R” in fear of committing “W” follies.

That’s because I have an accent. No, not a foreign country accent — I wish. I was born and bred where the West begins in Fort Worth. Nope, it’s not a Texas accent or even a Southern one. It’s a deaf accent. This accent sounds muffled or like someone who has a cold with a touch of monotone thrown in. Sometimes I miss sounds especially when I talk too fast. When I’m trying to sound excited, my voice grows louder.

In writing, I can have any accent. Readers read whatever I wish them to read. Fumbling doesn’t happen unless I do it on purpose. No nasally accent appears in my written thoughts unless a character suffers from a cold or can’t hear like me.

Writing lets me be part of the conversation. It lets me listen like a good listener should. Furthermore, I don’t dominate a written conversation.

Sure, sometimes like my speech, I accidentally type “fill” instead of “feel” or “your” instead of “you’re.” Yes, sometimes my fingers and brain fall out of sync. At least, they don’t have the added weight of an unusual accent not associated with any country. (Although one person thought I was from France, and that was a nice change from the deaf accent.)

I love reading comments from readers like:

“Superb advice!”
“Great article and a timely reminder!”
“Great specifics on how to maximize xyz.”
“I never thought about that!”

These words of praise tell me I have done my job of sharing new and useful bits of information, something I work to do in nonfiction writing.

Sometimes readers even say I made them laugh. I treasure that.

Writing puts me on even ground with the world. If anyone fails to understand what I wrote, it’s my fault. Bad writing is in my control. My speech is out of my control.

The best part comes when I reread what I wrote after publication. I do this to learn from the editor’s editing, not to admire my work. Sometimes I am in awe and ask, “Did I really write that?” Those moments clear away any doubts I may have about my ability to be a writer, at least until next time, as situations inevitably arise that make me doubt my writing ability again.

When I speak, too often, strangers look at me and are clearly baffled. They judge me on the sound of my words instead of the information I share or questions I pose.

When I write, no one judges me except by the quality of my writing, as it should be.

And that’s why I write.

Why do you write?

While playing mahjongg with friends, they started talking about a book that I ordered as soon as I arrived home. On Saturday night, I read half of Stuff Happens (and then you fix it!) that came in my mailbox earlier in the day. Fate may have intervened when all this happened.

The next day, I went to Fort Worth for my dad’s unveiling. He passed away on December 25, 2007. His tombstone displayed his birth date of February 5, 1931 and his death date. Other than the stone saying, “Beloved husband, father and grandfather,” strangers passing by won’t know anything about him.

Stuff Happens discusses the dash that appears between people’s birth date and death date. Everyone comes to Earth and everyone dies. It’s that time between the two dates that make up who we are.

I decided to speak and referenced the book’s mentioning the birth and death dates. Then I told a Cliff’s Notes version of my dad’s life (paraphrased and added notes I forgot):

He was born in Brooklyn and loved the Dodgers, which rubbed off on me even though the Dodgers were long gone from Brooklyn when I arrived. He loved sports and excelled at it that he earned a football scholarship.

He ended up going into the U.S. Air Force instead of college and served during the Korean War. He was stationed at Fort Worth’s Carswell Air Force Base at the end of his four-year service where he met and married my mother in 1955, the year the Dodgers won the world series.

He had three children and four grandchildren, which of course, he bragged about all the time. Dad ran a successful life insurance and financing business for years and still managed it part-time just before his stroke. He also volunteered right up to then especially at Dallas-Fort Worth airport as an ambassador.

Everyone here [at the unveiling] stands as a testament for the kind of person he was. You cared about him and share many memories of him.

My son mentioned that Grandpa could imitate Donald Duck to make many children laugh. My niece talked about him taking us to baseball games. Both said he was a kind and nice guy. Dad had an office full of Donald Duck mementos thanks to his children giving them to him as presents for birthdays, Father’s Days, and others.

If Dad can hear me, then I would tell him to be very proud of his “dash.” He lived a full life in both enjoying his life for himself and doing for others to make the world a better place.

So, do you want to act as a victim of everything that goes wrong with your life (the economy sucks, lost retirement funds, lost job, can’t get a raise) or do you want to fix it and move forward in making your dash more meaningful?

Do you want to hire an attorney who can’t spell the location of where he serves? Note the ad identifies the attorney’s specialty as “DWI.” I wonder if the lawyer was TWI (typing while intoxicated). I was born and bred in Fort Worth, and I’m a proud Cowtown native. I’ve seen my share of “Forth Worth” including once from my -horror- daughter.

An army major set up fort there and named it in honor of General William Jenkins Worth, who never set foot in the area. So there you have it. It’s Fort and no where near Fort Wayne, Indiana.