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Early summer, 1976. They sat on the front porch of the small split-level house as the sun dipped below the horizon. The beginnings of another New England summer. The old man slowly inhaled his unfiltered Pall Mall, held the smoke in his lungs, and then purposefully exhaled. He shook his head and pondered the smoldering cigarette between his tobacco-stained pointer and middle fingers. He would stop on Monday he vowed to himself for the millionth time.
“What’s on tap this week, buddy?” he asked the college kid.
“Work. Eat. Sleep. Repeat, Dad.”
The old man nodded. After a few moments, he asked, “I was wondering. Senior year’s coming up. Have you given any thought to your future?”
“Oh, a little,” the college kid replied. This topic had come up before sometimes leading to conflict. He didn’t want conflict this evening, but he also knew the day was fast approaching when college would be in his rear-view mirror and he needed a plan. To have a plan, he needed to plan. Not his strong suit. He knew the question was top of mind for the old man. He knew the old man saw it as the last parenting piece to ensure his son launched.
“And?” the old man prodded.
“I thought I’d take a year or two off after college.”
“To do what?”
“Write a novel,” the college kid replied cautiously.
The old man’s eyebrows raised, and he tilted his head in surprise. First time the old man had heard that plan. “A novel, eh? Hmmm. Maybe. Don’t know. Is there a Plan B?”
“Plan A’s good. It worked for Hemingway.”
“Did it? I don’t know. Doesn’t seem like a viable way to make a living.”
Perhaps not, the young man thought to himself. “Plan B?” the young adult asked as he sighed and capitulated in the conversation. “I guess I thought I’d get a master’s in literature.”
“Master’s degree, eh? To what end?”
“Teach. Maybe English in the inner city. And . . . write a novel in my spare time.”
As the young man explained Plan B, he broke eye contact and looked off into the distance, allowing himself to dream as he gazed off. To him, dreaming was synonymous with planning. But, the wistful look toward the horizon gave the old man the impression that Plan B was more of a pipedream than a plan.
“Yeah . . . . I don’t know, kiddo. Probably the same problem as Plan A. You have anything else in mind?”
“Well, I guess I could always go to law school.” The old man smiled and nodded his approval. The old man thought law school was the place to go to become a lawyer. The college kid thought it was the place to go to sort out what to do next. The old man did not pick up that there was no meeting of the minds. He was just glad that the novel diversion had ended.
The Next Few Decades. With no novel in the offing, law school it was, and it took the college kid more than four decades of meandering before returning to Plan A.
Along that journey, he often wondered, “why write?”
The Present. Forty-three years later, the college kid leaned back from his desk and his next novel coming to life on the computer screen and wondered aloud, “why write?”
He had come up with some answers to the question way back when but never shared his answers with the old man. He knew it probably wouldn’t have changed anything, but in case the old man was listening from the great beyond, here is what he wished he had said.
Number 1: Writing is better than talking with someone. When you write, you say everything on your mind. No interruptions. No arguments. No debates. No one talking back to you. If you think it, write it. If you feel it, write it. If you believe it, write it. Let the world read it and if they agree with it, bravo. If they don’t, either listen and learn, or ignore. Either way, keep writing.
Number 2: When you write and put your work out there for all to read, you put yourself out there as well. For us wallflowers, it is the best way to get off the wall. Not without consequences, of course. Some will like what you wrote. Some will not. Those who liked it may compliment you. A five-star affirmation and license to continue writing. Some who did not like your work will review it and explain their negative reaction. Some of the criticism can help you grow as a writer and a person. Listen to them. They are the path to future affirmation. Some of the criticism will be downright mean. A function of the modern social media era, perhaps. But, it’s really a little like baseball. If the best hitters in the game are only successful at the plate thirty percent of the time, why do they risk the pain of making an out seventy percent of the time? The hit is worth the quest. As well, the compliment is worth the quest, and the risk of the harsher criticism is just part of the game.
Number 3: When you write, looking off into the distance is not a sign of an ill-formed, life-altering, pipedream. No. When you write, gazing is working. It’s part of the process and if it means you are dreaming, or even formulating an unachievable pipedream, it’s all good because dreaming and even pipe dreaming is part of the writing process. If you are a gaze-off-into-the-distance type, then write.
Number 4. Do you write for fame and fortune? The New York Times bestseller’s list? A top ten new release on Amazon? Oprah’s recommended reading? An interview with Gayle King on CBS Mornings? Movie rights? Sadly, not at all likely, so, no, that’s not why you write. Always remember that the difference between a pizza and a writer is that a pizza feeds a family of four. With that in mind, if you still want to write, then do it.
Number 5: So, why write? Simple. Why not?
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