The Collected Works of D. Alex Rhue

I suppose I have been a “writer” for as long as I have been able to read. I learned to read at an early age, and I could read before I started Pre-K. I can thank my parents, who emphasized the importance of reading and the benefit of having an older sibling who loved to read.

I always felt more comfortable writing my thoughts down and would communicate with my mom, especially with an endless stream of notes. English or language arts were my least favorite classes for most of my school years. I always disliked the idea of analyzing other people’s writing and arriving at a singular answer as to what the author was thinking or feeling when they wrote something.

As an adult, I guess those feelings were tied to the fact that I simply imagined a character or an event and then filled the world in my mind. Two of my teachers influenced my writing heavily, one for reasons I don’t remember and the other I think about often.

In seventh grade, we discussed poetry and had an assignment to write a poem and present it to the class. At this point, I hated my teacher, Ms. Bray. Ick, why express myself through a poem? While I was procrastinating about the assignment, the Oklahoma City Bombing happened. I remember being deeply cut to the heart at seeing children being pulled from the wreckage. Despite being a child, I felt very adult in my response and my horror at the disgusting conduct of the perpetrator. In my mind, I imagined the attack as the action of a single vengeful man, and I wrote the poem Mother’s Cry as a way to process what I was thinking and feeling.

From then on, I would write poetry and even went back to my little brother’s elementary school and did a workshop on poetry. I really would like to do something like that again.

The following year, I met the greatest writing influence of my academic career: Mr. Gareis. He started the year by telling us about the origin of his name: it is German and means Ice Mountain. So he told us we could call him Mr. Gareis, later Dr. Gareis, or Mr. Ice Mountain.

He started every class with a writing prompt. It was in his class that I fell in love with the writing process. My writing, though still the work of a child, began to take shape. Though I have read so much more on the art and process of writing in the nearly 30 years since, I often think of sitting at that little wooden desk in his classroom and pondering, “Because a butterfly flew a little higher than usual.”

I will never forget those two educators who inspired me to keep writing or the many family members and friends who read my countless half-baked stories and poems.

I hope that sharing my writing and my learnings about the craft and the business may inspire you to keep going and keep writing. It is true that only a tiny fraction of us who love to do this are successful at writing commercially. We may never get paid to write, but, at least for me, the writing is the point. If I can make a living at it, well, then I guess I will never work another day in my life.