I Chisel my Petroglyphs – Essay 4

By Mathias Freese

In 1974 an editor, without my knowledge, submitted my story, “Herbie,”
to Martha Foley, editor of the prestigious annual anthology, The Best
American Short Stories of 1974. In a section called “Distinctive Short
Stories of 1974.” I was listed, unfortunately, with the wrong author’s
name. That is another story.

I was notified that Foley, who had edited Ernest Hemingway, had
included my story. I was 34. As I excitedly scanned the other chosen, I
saw names unknown to me at the time — Joyce Carol Oates; Isaac
Bashevis Singer, et al.

Realizing I was a mere baby elephant amid a herd of mammoths, it
did dawn upon me that I was now “koshered” as a writer. And with this
anointment in mind, I focused on learning my craft. I was an auto-
didact; I chose to be my own authority. I tried one writing class in the
New School in Greenwich Village but dropped out. I spent the rest of
my writing life just excavating what precious metals I could discover
within.

Now and then I win contests. I have few regrets as I chisel my
petroglyphs wherever I can and then wander off to the next arroyo like
a native American.