My Debut

Debut, noun: entry into society; first appearance in public of an actor, actress, or other performer .... from French débuter, to make the first stroke in billiards, etc; to lead off.

Putney Magazine, June 1964 title page & table of contents

I first saw my work in print at age 8 or 9, when my siblings and I started putting out a newspaper, “The Academy Press.” Those of us old enough to hold a pencil — four or five at that point — were joined in this endeavor by the five Wallace girls, who lived a quarter of a mile down the road. As a group, we constituted a formidable self-contained community. Our rag was printed using a “ditto machine” or spirit duplicator — a set-up whereby an image on paper is transferred in reverse to a gel bed, then reproduced in purple ink on multiple sheets of paper, successive copies becoming fainter and fainter until they are barely legible.

Front page of The Academy Press, circa 1957

At age 12, I began to correspond with Marion Carr, editor of the Junior Natural History Magazine at the American Museum of Natural History. The following year, she published an article of mine about bees, and later, a second one about the Clearnose Skate (Raja eglanteria), a flat fish often seen on the beaches of Cape Cod.

Postcard, 1960

I continued writing all through high school, and in my senior year, our school magazine published some of my poems and stories. One of them was a short story destined to launch my career in the world of publishing. It went something like this:

Entering Smith College after high school, I immediately fell in love with the library — specifically, the reference section of the main reading room, which to this day is one of my favorite parts of any library. There I discovered Literary Market Place — a thick volume featuring short blurbs from various publishers stating what they were looking for in submissions. Leafing through it, I came across what I thought might be a good match for one of my high school stories. Paradise Magazine’s descriptive paragraph suggested a focus on nature and the outdoors. So, full of confidence, I sent off my short piece titled Early One Morning.

Ballston Beach, October 2009

It’s the innocent story of two young brothers who go skinny-dipping on a deserted ocean beach, when a fisherman appears unexpectedly and proceeds to accost and shame the boys for their nakedness.

I checked the mailbox every day, and at last, few weeks later, a letter arrived, announcing acceptance of my story. This meant I would soon break into print – in a real magazine that had just paid me real money for my work! I was beside myself with excitement — especially because in the envelope along with the acceptance letter was a fat, juicy check for $27.00 — roughly fifty times my allowance at the time. I thought I was rich. This, I figured, was just the beginning. My future in publishing was all but assured.

Soon thereafter, my complimentary copy arrived in the mail. I tore open the brown envelope with anticipation, and — there it was. I didn’t like the mediocre illustrations that accompanied my story, but oh well …. and then I turned the page and the real shock hit me — with this:

Naked in the Living Room, from Paradise Magazine

To say I was horrified would be an understatement. What I stared at, speechless, went way beyond a focus on nature …. it wasn’t even outdoors! How would I ever be able to share my triumphant first success with anyone? Instead, I rushed in a panic to hide the magazine in the depths of my closet. I didn’t show it to anyone, not even to my family. My work had joined the ranks of the tasteless.

A few years later, returning to the library in search of reference sources on etymology, I spotted the current Literary Market Place and thought I’d check out Paradise Magazine’s latest requirements for acceptance into the lofty ranks of their contributors. My shame had faded over time and I had nothing to lose by stirring up memories of that first publishing venture. I wrestled the heavy tome off the shelf and plunked it down on the long oak table, joining studious compatriots silently bent over their books. After some random browsing in various sections of the LMP, I flipped the pages to Paradise Magazine just for the heck of it. There they were, still in business, still seeking literary masterpieces with a particular slant. And there it was, their “bottom line” so to speak:

“All fiction must be written by a nudist, otherwise it doesn’t ring true ... see Early One Morning, by Clyde Watson.”

If this isn’t fame – being held up as the gold standard in one’s chosen genre – I don’t know what is. I burst into manic laughter, causing multiple bent heads to lift from their books in consternation, and I hurried out of the library into the fresh outdoors. My standing in the publishing world was assured.

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