Remembering Peggy Moss Fielding

pmfThe first time I met Peggy Moss Fielding was at the first writers’ conference I went to in 1999, held by the Oklahoma Writers’ Federation, Inc. Even then, I admired her spunk and wit.

Not long after that, some friends and I heard about writing classes she taught in her home to members of the Tulsa Nightwriters. Now, we were already members of the McAlester McSherry Writers, but there were no rules that said you couldn’t be a member of more than one group, so we joined and went to Peggy’s class.

If I remember correctly, that first class was on writing romance, but that’s neither here nor there.

Peggy was a stickler for writing every day, no matter what. We started calling her Warden Peggy. The only excuses ever granted would be with a note from the Pope or the president of the Southern Baptist Convention (or your denomination of choice).

It is in large part because of Peggy’s influence that I am (still) a writer.

You know the saying “God broke the mold when he made” some person. I truly believe that to be the case with Miss Peggy. She was a firecracker and had stories to tell! (And that’s not counting the ones she wrote.)

She wrote inspirational pieces, true confessions, how-to books on writing, romances, etc. If I were to list everything she wrote, it would take the space of about 3 or 4 posts. She once said she would write anything at least once except for poetry. She told a story of getting her first sales. Two of them came in the mail at the same time. One was from an inspirational magazine and one from a confessions magazine. She hurried home and told her mother she sold two stories, “One to God and one to the devil, but the devil pays better.”

There are so many stories I could tell about Peggy, but since they involve other friends of hers, I will leave those to them for the telling.

In a romance writing workshop she had, I had a novel in progress titled “Satin’s Thief.” She loved that title. She said, “If you don’t use it, I will!”

OK, Peggy. That’s my next project. I promise.

And some day, some time, when we meet up again in the afterlife, I hope to be able to tell you that I wrote. Every day. At least 30 minutes.

Oh, and Peggy? In case you wondered, you were loved and are already very dearly missed.

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