The Clackamas Literary Review published my short story, The Closet, today. This brings the total stories published so far this year to three with another two pending. The Closet is one of those stories that I just kind of wrote one day on a whim, never expecting it to get published. However, I decided to put it out there anyways, which just goes to show you never know what might happen.
I don’t usually believe in explaining stories, but I think this one is worth saying some things because stories of a personal nature involve people one loves and cares about. I had a good childhood overall. I got to grow up in the middle of nowhere in a setting relatively few people get to truly experience. I’ve never wanted to trade it for anything. I was a lucky kid. I had parents who loved me and cared so deeply that even when I was angry with them I never questioned it. If anything, I wish I could go back to my childhood and be better to them. I was not an easy child. I was a different child, or at least that’s the way I felt, though others must have seen it somewhat too for I got picked on a lot as a kid. It’s hard to explain, but I always felt like an outsider no matter where I went or who I met. I sometimes imagined a spaceship dropping out of the sky to take me to the world where I belonged.
Growing up is a confusing time, not just for yourself, but for your parents as well, especially when you feel different. I was not an easy kid. I was extremely finicky, picky, and had a violent temper. I was angry at being stuck on this world, and so I acted out against it. I latched onto odd things and ideas with an amazing amount of force for somebody my age, defending them against encroachment with a righteous fury that often came out in unhealthy ways. I know I worried my parents, and scared them a lot too. I don’t think they knew what to do with me, though they did everything in their power to help and understand me. As a kid, so many actions by your parents don’t make sense at the time they’re happening, only later revealing themselves as proof of how much somebody loves you. I don’t know how my parents could’ve done any better with me. How could they be expected to understand something that I certainly didn’t understand then, and even after 37 years of living with myself still can’t satisfactorily explain now.
I was a lucky kid. My parents loved me and cared for me. There are so many kids who don’t get such things, and who knows what I might be if I didn’t have such a foundation. I am who I am today because of them, and there’s no way for me to repay such a gift. As for the rest, I guess eventually I learned to go native, accepting as best I can that I am where I’m supposed to be. Though I will admit that I often still look up at the stars wondering if a spaceship might be on its way.
The Closet was first written in November of 2015. It was rejected 21 times before finding a home. This is my second story to be published by the Clackamas Literary Review. I hope you enjoy it.
www.shawnwcampbell.com/the-closet
Also be sure to check out The People’s Republic of 47th and Long, a writing experiment where a new section is added to the story every day. It can be found at:
