I posted a welcome yesterday. If this is your first visit to Village Writer, you may scroll down and read my welcome to you.


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Those Wonderful Friends Who Read

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There’s something quietly beautiful about friends who follow their curiosity through books. They chase questions, dive into unfamiliar worlds, and emerge changed— sometimes in small ways, sometimes profoundly. If you’re lucky enough to have one of these readers in your life, supporting them can be a meaningful way to deepen your connection. Start by showing genuine interest. Ask them what they’re reading—not just the title, but what drew them to it. Let them talk about the ideas or characters that linger with them, and listen without rushing to respond. A thoughtful question like, “What surprised you most?” or “Has this book changed how you see something?” can open the door to a deeper kind of conversation, one that honors both the book and the reader. It helps, too, to share pieces of your own reading life—not as a recommendation list, but as an offering. If you’ve come across a book or a line that resonates with something they’ve mentioned, pass it along gently, with no pressure to r...
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The hardest—and probably most painful—part of writing is accepting criticism. When I walk into class after returning their first edited manuscript, some students smile politely while mourning the loss of a limb; others behave as if I’ve performed a full lobotomy. I sigh the unavoidable sigh of a writing teacher, hand back the pages, and brace myself. There’s no other way out. I have to give them the news the same way I’d want it delivered to me. I still remember my first editorial review from a writing professor. I thanked him feebly, but panic nearly paralyzed me. Was he telling me my work was hopeless? Unrevivable? My only comfort was knowing he let me keep coming back. The first draft is a joyride—a glorious shut-off-the-brain sprint so the story can tumble out. But revision? That’s when the gloves go on and we start poking around inside the body. Is that a tumor? Will that limb need amputation? I nearly second-guessed myself into heart failure while learning to self-edit. Us...
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This one’s personal from a few years ago; but it stayed with me all day. Here’s what happened: Some days, I’m reminded of the old adage: there are more important things. This morning, I slipped into the local village bookstore, The Country Bookshop, hoping to introduce myself — something I often do when I’m near a Southern bookseller. Just as I was inching toward a few irresistible titles, one of the associates whispered that the president of the local college was standing behind me. Ah! A familiar face — and better yet, I was caught red-handed promoting the fiction class I’ll soon be teaching at his college. One introduction led to another, and soon a circle of new literary friends had formed, all of us clogging the aisle and filling the air with literary chatter and publishing talk — the kind that quickens a writer’s pulse by Hemingway-esque increments. It was a lovely moment. Until I got in the car and my spouse called. I had, in my dreamy, bookish bliss, completely missed ...
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