Ghost writing

When I was a teenager my poetry was published for a college magazine. That magazine doesn’t exist anymore, but I never got my copy with my work.

That was long ago and a hard lesson to learn. Since then I’ve done a lot more writing, including some ghost writing.

For this piece, a magazine had paid a photographer to travel to Belize and take pictures for them. The pictures were beautiful, but when he got back, he was also tasked with writing an article to go with the photos.

I wrote the article for him, and it was published in 2010 in North Valley Magazine.

If you need a ghost writer for any type of writing, I am available. Please contact me to discuss your needs.

Photos by Eric Fairchild

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Evolving is painful

Life is a series of growth spurts, or at least should be. We should be always evolving, always getting better, whatever that means. Nothing should be stagnate.

Sometimes evolution happens when you break. Being broken doesn’t mean you’ll be broken forever; because like all beloved dolls, a little glue will make you all better.

Madness is helpful in writing. Sylvia Plath did it beautifully until she decided to stick her head in the oven. William S Burroughs may have never become an author if he had not shot an arrow through his wife’s head. It was a drug induced accident of course, and thus was born the author.

All my life I have used writing as therapy. Sometimes my short stories were just to make up friends, something the bullied and overlooked don’t get a lot of, or any of, and sometimes I think poetry saved my life.

My father was my best friend and a proud first generation Welshman. I don’t need to tell you this because it’s fairly obvious, but we were a fan of Dylan Thomas. If you know anything of Dylan Thomas, then you know he was from the old country.

As my father lie dying, incoherent, seemingly just a corpse before he was actually dead, I told him through my tears and sobs, “Do not go into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of light!”. Suddenly life came into his eyes, and he smiled at me.

He died hours later.

Writing is a gift, and one I want to share. People have voices and stories and not everyone can share them in the way they want. I am for hire in such cases.

Otherwise, I’m just peddling my works and seeing if this poor merchant can make a difference in the world.

Welcome to my blog.

-Myla Thomas Fairchild