Just write right, right?

The Source

I probably shouldn’t have taken the speaking assignment. It was too far away and I didn’t really know what I was talking about. But when a group of writers in the northern part of the state decided to convene one wintery weekend last month I reluctantly agreed to be their keynote speaker. I first pled ignorance . . . usually a topic that needs no pleading once they’ve met me, but the organizer said that since I was traveling from such a distance I’d be deemed an expert. So this expert trudged into a delightful old Bed and Breakfast one Sunday afternoon to shower the participants with the crumbs of writing knowledge that I’d manufactured somewhere north of Galesburg. Let me take a chance and be honest. . . writers scare me a bit. The typical convocation of authors ranges all the way from the slightly strange to the downright weird. Some border on dangerous. This particular group included a lady who was working on a children’s book (aren’t we all?), a jolly and rotund little fellow who wrote technical manuals (yawn), a fellow who makes a living as a storyteller in the Pentecostal churches of Kentucky (can you do that?), a very suave looking guy who was writing a play for adolescents about sexually transmitted diseases (I won’t be producing that one any time soon), at least two poets (at least they looked like poets), a fellow who writes educational materials for an ecology-based group, a songwriter who’d pretty much blown his mind with drugs in the 60’s and now performs in schools and libraries, and perhaps a dozen folks who didn’t know for sure what they wanted to write (I could relate). I didn’t ask for questions from the audience but apparently it was a part of their routine so they started firing away. The first question can always be predicted with accuracy. “What do you do about writer’s block?” “I don’t believe in it.” “Huh?” The group stared at me as if I had two heads. I explained that I simply don’t believe it. I thought writer’s block was another word for laziness. I told them that I have a friend named David Zink who’s a good mechanic. “When Dave hears a knock in an engine and he can’t figure it out, he doesn’t say, ‘Gosh, I must have mechanic’s block. I guess I can’t fix it.’” No, he works until he finds the cause. Writers should do the same. Next question? “Where do you get your ideas?” Another totally predictable question. “I listen. I pay attention.” Little did they know that with their amalgamation of technological manuals, children’s books, and sexually transmitted diseases, they had already provided me with a column for The Source. “How do you get published?” I didn’t mean to be flippant, but I couldn’t stop the words from coming out of my mouth. “Write better than the next guy.” Then I went on to explain that actually wasn’t always the case. Knowing your audience was probably requirement number one. “What’s the best time to write?” Easy. “When you get an idea.” Not the right answer. “I mean, what time of day?” I told them that mornings are best for most writers, and added, “Never push ‘Print’ on anything you write after 10 p.m. There’s a gremlin inside your computer that will automatically turn to garbage anything written late at night.” “Lot’s of great writers drink a lot. Do you?” I told them that I wasn’t a great enough writer to be alcoholic. Besides, I play piano at a Methodist church. The Methodists can smell booze a mile away. “I read one of your books. Where do you get your ideas for eccentric characters?” Again, the answer was easy. “Have you ever heard of Arenzville?” “What’s the favorite thing you’ve ever written?” “Whatever I write next. I know how all the other stuff ends.” I’m not sure if I actually taught my fellow writers anything that day. They truly were a delightful group and it was worth it to simply be around some like-minded folks for a day. There’s an old Billy Crystal movie called “Let’s Throw Mama off the Train” in which he plays the role of a writing teacher. He keeps telling his students, “Writers write.” Period. You sit down and you do it. About twenty years ago I spoke to a group of PhD’s at the U of I. At the end of the speech one dignified professor asked, “But where do you get your inspiration?” I looked at him a moment and thought I’d take a stab at plain honestly. I said, “I pray, I sweat, I stay up late, and that’s called ‘inspiration.’” The answer was totally unsatisfying.