Does anyone really become a writer without the influence of others upon their lives? Certainly, not me. We all have stories. It’s putting them on the page that needs careful consideration. I was one of the lucky ones to be groomed and, I suppose, whose destiny seemed to be that of a writer; though I never called myself such until I was invited to be a columnist at the Sullivan County Democrat. Here are the people who led me down the path without my actually knowing it:

Mr. “boil-it-down” Axtel, who diagramed sentences with different color chalks, and who read O Henry stories aloud at the end of each class. He taught me everything I needed to know about creative writing in the sixth grade, age 12. Perhaps you can tell? Mr. Axtel may be gone, but the writing skills he imparted live on in all my pages. 

Hedy End, my editor at Rockline! Magazine, hired me without even asking for a writing sample. I didn’t have one anyway. I just knew her sister. She taught me how to read editor’s notes as I watched her slash my stories to bits. Even though it was painful, each experience was a much needed lesson.

Columbia University graduate in journalism, Pops Peterson recognized my potential and coached me in every way. He also informed me that since I was being paid, I was already a professional writer. He also insisted I buy what every writer required in the 1980’s; a dictionary, thesaurus and a typewriter. I got the books right away; the typewriter came later. Up until then, I submitted everything handwritten.

Tony Bongiovi and Bob Walters, builders of the famed NYC recording studio, Power Station. The secret’s out now that they financed the book Bon Jovi: The Story of Rock’s Runaway Superstars, which I wrote. After dumping a file folder (containing Bongiovi family secrets most of which I did not use) into my lap and paying me cash, I had my first book. They didn’t even ask for a writing sample!

Laurie Stuart, publisher of the award winning River Reporter newspaper, hired me without asking for a writing sample, and then kept me on for years as Special Section Editor of Our Country Home Magazine. Reporting on homes and architecture in the region was both a joy and a struggle, the kind that brings a person up a notch or two.

Xeth Feinberg for coming up with the bright idea to self-publish the book, Meet the OOAKS, based on my soft doll sculptures. Of course, it would never have happened had he not done all the work including dealing with my amateur photographs and laying out the entire book from cover to cover. 

Debra “Mon, Sr.” Eagle, best friend since high school, takes all my emergency phone calls when I need to read one of my stories to someone. She has the uncanny ability to listen enthusiastically and yet with a critical ear. Hopefully, she won’t start checking her caller ID. Oh, that’s not a thing anymore. (See previous column: Last of the Landlines).

When there was an opening for a columnist at the Sullivan County Democrat, longtime columnist, June Donohue, recommended me. And to my surprise, the editor, Joseph Abramson, actually asked for not one but three writing samples. How dare he! Luckily by then, I had some. I had no idea weekly columnist would become my dream job. Thank you Fred Stabbert and all the staff at the paper.  

My husband, Andre Turan, and daughter, Lucille Jan-Turan, still sit through many Yarnslingers events without complaint of boredom or a roll of the eyes. Lastly, my self-taught ancestors who wrote diaries and short stories out of necessity (especially my mom and grandmother) and showed me that writing about one’s own life was essential to one’s mental health.