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Archive for February, 2013

Andy Wood:

Part 2!!!

Originally posted on Official Site of Alex Laybourne - Author:

My chat with bestselling author and writing coach Les Edgerton was so det ailed that I split it over two thrilling installments. If you missed Part 1, you can read via the link. In part 2 of out chat, Les and I discussed his teachings, and books in general. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy the rest of this interview.

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A number of your teaching methods include online resources such as Skype, is that correct?

Yes. One of the classes I teach is a class I co-teach with author Jenny Milchman for the New York Writer’s Workshop. It’s a fun class.

 

I am a big fan of online communication, but still see the benefit of classroom learning. Would you agree that if it were possible –removing all travel logistics from the equation – face to face learning remains the more powerful tool?

Actually, I’m probably…

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Andy Wood:

Fantastic interview!

Originally posted on Official Site of Alex Laybourne - Author:

Les Edgerton is a man who needs no introduction, a successful author with 15 bestselling titles to his name, including numerous books on writing as a craft, he is a man whose words should not only be listened to, but followed. He calls things how he sees them, and that is a quality I admire in a person. It was my honor to be able to sit down with him and talk about writing, his past, present and future.

Without further ado, here is part 1 on the greatest interview you will ever read.

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Thank you for agreeing to answer some of my questions Les, it is an honor having your drop by.

It’s my pleasure, Alex.

 

I like to start with a nice open ice breaker, so Les, tell us, who is Les Edgerton?

That’s kind of tough to answer, Alex! I’ve been quite a few things…

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Flash Fiction #15 – What Can I Do?

What can I do, but stare? Stare into the void outside. Drops of rain bounce off the concrete in front of me like a thousand dancers, enticing me into its performance. I step out through the French doors from my alcove of a living room and feel the warmth caress my face like a mother’s love and devotion.

Amidst the rain that trickles down my face there is something thicker and hotter – a tear. I open my eyes and look down at the drink in my hand, the thin, golden brown liquid slowly being watered down. Without a thought I toss the scotch to the floor, its malted goodness spoiled by Nature’s sorrow. A bitter taste roaming around my mouth like an intruder; it is unwanted and evil. The glass is stained with remorse and a tortured being – so many times have I drunk myself into unconsciousness.

For how much longer can I keep this up?

I attempt a smile upon my face, but I know that it is not genuine – it is a falsity. The child in me sits down on the slabs of my patio and cuddles my knees to my face. The glass is to one side, discarded like my own feelings.

For so long I have given myself to people without getting anything back, except the satisfaction that I have helped someone with their troubles, or at least made them smile. How much longer? Am I to drink myself into failure? I keep telling myself that I must live for me and my life, but I cannot help it.

Things get from bad to worse in my head when in actuality things are fine. Maybe, just maybe, I need help.

Help myself before helping others?

I glance at the drying brown beverage on the floor and sigh heavily, my chest tightening. Images, poignant and vivid, flash in front of my eyes. Not for the first, or last, time in my life I cry… hard.

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