Been writing ever since. Around 1978, writing became my profession. As an advertising and public relations specialist, I wrote what others needed to have written. Along came a bitch named Katrina in 2005. That hurricane came and went; but some kind of gris-gris stuck around to drop a trauma-a-year on (formerly free-spirited) me straight through 2008. That's when my writing became personal. I marathoned desk time and pounded out a manuscript presently entitled: Misadventures of a New Orleans Girl. Subtitle: Selling the Shoes Without Touching the Feet. This creative nonfiction work is not yet published. I pitched it to a publisher in Berkeley. That group sent me a rejection letter stating that although my work was loaded with merit, etc., they were not accepting fiction at that time. (The work isn't fiction.) That letter made me glad not to be affiliated with a bunch of careless dopes. Then I tried a Santa Fe publisher. Suffice to report, I remain unpublished on this instance. One may ask why not query Pelican, the kids in my own neighborhood.
Some stories just have to be written; fame or fortune doesn't even enter into it. It's like something caught in your throat. Ya keep on coughing and trying to clear your throat until ya get the thing outta there. Such it was with "Misadventures...." Who wudda thunk all that could really happen; and in the sequence and way it played out!?
Julia Child: My Life in France
No one has written on Linda Yasnyi's wall.
No one has written on Linda Yasnyi's wall.