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JHS English Honor Society

2015 Obit.

Chillicothe

This happens to me every time… I agree to speak on the subject of writing then the time gets close and I say to myself, “What the heck to I know about writing?”

The only important thing I have to tell you… Grew up on a farm. Our neighbor: Mr. Rolf. Had to have the biggest everything.. tractors, combines, sheds. Not a terribly good farmer, but his family left him money and he was going to be big. Dad: 2, 6000 bushel bins for corn. Mr. Rolf saw them. Built 3, 18,000 bushel bins. Not enough corn to fill them…and the quality was poor…but he had the biggest bins.

You’ve grown up in age of the Internet…the largest consumer of words ever invented. . but the amount of quality writing has stayed about the same…and perhaps decreased. We have the bins. . .but we’re short on corn. Good corn. . .good writing. That’s why it’s a joy to speak to you tonight.

An audience like this…3 types ---Those who’ve never heard of you ---Those who think you’re a writer because they’ve read your work ---Those who think you’re not a writer because they’ve read your work.

If I’d done three brain surgeries last week I should be able to give you a rough idea of how it’s done…because at the time I was cutting into the skull I knew where I was going and what I wanted to accomplish…

The same can’t be said for writing..

I didn’t intend to be a writer…. My fifth-grade teacher… Mrs. Smith.. “Whatever you do. . . “ First theme: Mrs. Smith.. Perry 5th grade.. “Whatever you do….” --------I wrote anyway....I wrote about things like monsters and dragons, and space ships....Then I started writing about the people I grew up with Grandpa...2 fingers cut off 2 donkeys...1 bucked Aunt Lizzie into a tank of water Grandma...cutting chickens head off...backed her into a bush My classmates loved it. . . I thought…Whoa! I might be onto something.

The Boy with the Firefly Eyes

To the boy with the firefly eyes we said, “Boy.. with the firefly eyes. You shore can, yes you shore can catch them fireflies whether on or off those lights would go that boy would catch them high or low to the ground don’t you know that boy was fast!” Now fire----flies… the strange little things, Don’t come out in the day But they come out at that peculiar time When the light’s just fadin’ away

And you won’t find that firefly bug in a mug or a rug or your grandpa’s jug or anywhere else it seems. And you gotta grab fast or the light won’t last and the firefly’ll get away clean.

Oh, none could match his speed, he grace, and the way he caught those things. And in the firefly catchers club he was the absolute King. They’d go up and up he’d go! Fly low? He’d hit his knees… They’d whirl, he’d whirl…. They’d flash, he’d dash.. As easy as you please.

The trick he found, was to sit on the ground and pretend he wasn’t there Then just when mister bug would glow he’d jump up in the air. And I’ll bet you think he killed ‘em when they were tryin’ to glow.. I gotta confess, he hated the mess and he always let ‘em go.

30 copies printed…I was an author!

You have an advantage over me…I never intended to be a writer…

English major at I.C. .. . Wanted to be a mortician...needed money for mortuary school…Dad said get a teacher’s certificate. Night before graduating from IC…first real prayer… Jim Brim.. “By the way, can you direct plays?” I didn’t intend that.

Didn’t intend to write TV commercials… had to have one written and inquired…$200…That’s ridiculous.. I’ll write my own. The company hired me.

As a joke I sent in a weekly column to paper…Hubberville Drippings… People liked the joke. Editor stole the concept and had it copywritten… Started Coonridge as a joke in competition with Hubberville…They took it seriously. I’ve never asked any newspaper to run my column…it runs in 14. 31 years.

Asked to coach Jr. High speech…looked at the material…awful. Some even racist… Embarrassed to have my kids perform it so I wrote one…

The life of a writer.

So a few random thoughts on being a writer.

I enjoy writing. Of all the things I do, I enjoy writing the most. I enjoy writing a play, more than I do producing it. I enjoy writing music more than listening to it. In my head, it’s perfect.

I would rather write than anything I know. Nothing more satisfying. One night I was traveling with Steve Varble and he asked me when I knew I was a writer. …I remember the moment vividly. Lucerne, Switzerland…been traveling through the Swiss Alps all day. That night: walk the town, moonlight fondue boat ride on Lake Lucerne, or take in a concert by a traveling boys choir from Austria. All I wanted to do was get back to my hotel room to write about what I’d seen that day. What a remarkably stupid choice! I must be a writer.

Audience response is nice, but…….Private shouts of joy which only my computer can hear are far better. Journal.. every day since 1969. Many shouts of joy in it.

My fantasy.. small cabin in Wales or Ireland (no income tax for writers). Piano. Computer. Dog (never had one before). (I’d probably give him away, but I’d like to give it a try.) A wooden desk. No phone. Lots of books. Pump water. Problem: I can’t fix anything. I’d probably starve or freeze, or get bitten by the dog. But I’d like to give it a try.

I’ve nearly stopped speaking on how to write. My answers are often unsatisfying. Spoke to writers conference at Sangamon State. Introduced me: I’d written over a hundred plays.. most produced author of competition scripts in the US and my answer to “How do I write?” I don’t know. I pray and sweat and it comes.. Not satisfying for the PhD’s congregated there. This doesn’t make a good how-to seminar on how to write.

Being published is dangerous. A Sermon Diary.

I had to return to my family after 30 years to find out why I’m a writer. Recent family reunion… all telling stories of Perry 60 years ago. Storytellers. That’s why I believe we’re all writers. Some of you just haven’t begun yet. I often work with a storyteller…six-figure income… but a bit of professional jealousy… the problem is, I’m better than him. He: stories from American folklore. Me: stories from my own experience. This summer he finally asked me, “Do make some of this stuff up?” “No…I just pay attention to what happens.” Meaning…I shut up and listen.

The best writing…Writing of recognition …when an audience member or reader sees herself or himself onstage. . . .when a reader says, “Yeah..that’s what I feel.”

The downside of being a writer: My mother once had her check questioned.. Freida Marie…. Judge a speech contest at a distance. Hard to get a break for signing autographs. My students hear this and think what’s the big deal. Two little boys at the urinal. A hundred miles away makes you a celebrity. Facebook this week…Buffalo… Ken Bradbury’s chair

Newspaper column… Angry lady from Chandlerville… writing about her drunken uncle, she thought. Crazy Aunt…. Brunhilda Liddy… Lady from J’ville. “My Aunt! You described her perfectly! She’s nuts!”

Two subjects which draw the most angry mail… Religion and politics.. “God may not be a Republican” letter from then Senator Chuck Robb of Virginia… (LBJ’s daughter Lynda) “I’ve been waiting twenty years from someone to write that column.”

My own hate fan club in Peoria… Militia members.. Don’t like my remarks about equality of the races. Worst part: They can’t spell. My lawyer says they haven’t threatened my life, so I can’t do anything about them. My revenge I write them back… told them I was a black, Jewish, lady.

Things I’ve learned: ….The earlier in the day, the better the writing. ….Never…NEVER write anything late at night then send it off…something mysterious happens to it when you go to sleep…it turns to garbage ….Magical strip of highway between Arenzville and Beardstown ….When another writer sends you his or her work and asks you to give an honest evaluation, he or she is lying. …Editor from Missouri: “Don’t write about schools or roads because we don’t care about either one.” …Proofreaders at the Journal Courier are the toughest of all 14 papers ….Racists can’t spell. …Creativity is just a muscle. …Writers Block is for wimps. …Writers write. This guy sits on his couch and says, “I can’t drive!” Of course you can’t you idiot. You’re sitting on a couch. Go get in the car. …There’s nothing in the world more exciting than a good idea. …

My Writing Heroes… Mark Twain (Innocents Abroad..the funniest) David Sedaris Garrison Keiler William Faulkner

Leave you with next week’s Coonridge.

Greetings from the Ridge. Let’s just pretend…just for a minute, okay? Let’s pretend that I’ve just spent ten or fifteen or fifty dollars for my seat tonight and let’s pretend that I’m sitting in the row behind you, then you decide to hold your phone camera up in front of my face to make a movie of what’s happening onstage. I lean right, you lean right, I go left and you follow. You no doubt have an app on your phone that tells you which way I’m heading. Let’s pretend that I don’t like this. This is fun! Let’s pretend some more! Let’s pretend that I’ve waited for months to see this concert or this play and that for once I got really good seats. But let’s pretend that again that my seat is behind you when you can’t get your camera phone to work properly so you turn to your wife and loudly ask if she knows how it works. I’ve already moved over one seat so I can see around your camera, and now after a prolonged conversation where you irritate everyone around you, Mrs. Bubba holds the camera in front of my face. Let’s pretend that this isn’t a nice thing to do. Just pretend. And while we’re pretending, let’s pretend that you are an extremely inconsiderate jerk and you’re filming the entire thing with your tablet. Let’s pretend that the tablet is about the size of the yard markers at a football game and now you have blotted out the entire stage from my view. It would be easier and just as effective if you’d have brought a curtain to the concert and dropped it in front of my face. But maybe you’re a semi-considerate idiot and you try to film the performance from a lower position in front of your chest. Now our entire section of the theatre is lit up by the glow of your screen. It would have been so much easier to simply bring a spotlight and shine it in my face, but you could not get a spotlight into your purse. Let’s pretend that this really burns my butt. Gee! This is so much fun to pretend! Let’s do a little more! Let’s pretend that you’re bored with what’s going on onstage so you simply bring out your phone and start checking your texts during the show. Now our entire row is lit by a soft, green glow. This is really cool if we’re watching a film on the Amazon rainforest or a lecture on exotic types of mold where the color green would add a little atmosphere, but let’s pretend that I don’t go to films about the Amazon and I could care less about mold. Let’s pretend you’re ruining the whole thing for me. We could do a little more pretending and imagine that our rights as an audience member are at least equal to and perhaps even greater than your rights as a videographer. Wow! Can you imagine that? And let’s further pretend that when you go home and upload your video of little Suzie dancing or Bobby playing the trumpet that no one really wants to see it. Offended? Hey! I’m just pretending! So let’s pretend that after you’ve filmed little Suzie in her dance recital that you now have a piece of film that the rest of us have very little interest in seeing. If we did we’d have gone to the recital ourselves and seen the full-life version. And now this is going to take a lot of imagination, put let’s just pretend that your son or daughter or cousin onstage would rather look out into the crowd and see your smiling, appreciative face instead of the glow of a cell phone. Wowsers! Now that takes some real pretending! Or let’s pretend that this is a professional production and they began the show by announcing that absolutely no recordings may be made. Now in addition to blocking my view you’re making me very uneasy sitting directly behind a felon. Let’s pretend that this pretty much ruins my night. Let’s take a big chance here and speculate whether or not you may be suffering some sort of technological malady whereby you get more enjoyment watching an event through a three-inch screen than seeing the event live. Let’s pretend that your mind cannot hold anything that you can’t capture digitally. Or we could pretend that the only reason you came to the concert or recital or play was so that you could film it thus prove to others that you were there. Let’s pretend that you don’t really care much for what’s happening on stage but that it’s really important that you prove that you are a real world traveler. “But,” you say, “how will I be able to capture this magic moment if I can’t film it?” Well . . . try putting down your camera phone and use your memory. Just pretend! You ever in Coonridge, stop by. We may not answer the door but you'll enjoy the trip.

Questions?

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