Native Genius or Class Clown?
To prove once and for all that I am in fact a writer, having worked my charms with pen and pencil since my infancy, I’ve included a photo of a ninth grade assignment from Warrior Run High School entitled The Becker Almanac, dated Oct. 38, 1978 (not a typo). Apparently, our class was tasked with creating a newspaper. I don’t recall the course or the poor teacher this work was foisted upon, but the record is clear: I was awarded a 72%.
Technically and aesthetically, the rag is horrible, but I did laugh out loud at the caption for the “photo” of Daniel Flood’s wrecked car.
Daniel Flood, who boasted a Dick Dastardly mustache, is best remembered as the PA Representative to Congress who served during the historic 1972 Agnes Flood.1 For some reason it was en vogue among ninth graders to poke fun at Mr. Flood.
Beyond that bit of master journalism in my publication, this headline is worth the dime store paper it’s printed on: “One-Armed Man Arrested”… for rowing his boat in a circle, of course. And the PSA for “Duck Licenses Due” says a lot about my early exposure to the absurdity of Monty Python’s Flying Circus, Steve Martin, and Cheech & Chong:
Licenses for ducks (tame ones, not wild) are very beneficial if your duck gets hit by a car or he/she gets picked up by the duck catcher.
The next line’s a non-sequitur, even to me:
Also cyclops glasses will be given to all ducks at their arrival to the licensing headquarters.
Then the real knee-slapper:
Speaking for the duck licensing program is V. President Joseph Jones: “Wack wack wack quack quack quack wee wah wack wack.”
Am I writer? Now that you’ve seen my native talent, isn’t it self evident? My mom thinks so. Her son’s got a book to his name. Additionally, each day I write copy for The Row House on various media platforms, I correspond with people, and I do what I’m doing right now at my MacBook Air just for you. (Thanks for showing up, by the way.)
With a Capital W
Writing I do, yes, but I wouldn’t introduce myself with
Great to meet you. I’m Tom, and I’m a Writer.
As I consider journalists and novelists I admire like David Brooks or George Saunders, I’m reminded that those cats are proper Writers. I read Greg Zyla’s weekly column religiously in the Classified section of LNP’s Sunday edition. Though some might scoff at his mundane content and wooden style, I’d call him a Writer. He’s processed and spun out his encyclopedic knowledge of car obscurities prolifically for decades.
A Writer, I suppose, is one who pours their energies into creating new material nearly every day. They don’t get so hung up on publishing, marketing, or “influencing” that they fail to push through the strain of getting down to banging the keys. They produce. Most of them also do the things average people do: hold day jobs (I’ve no idea how), manage to live in family groups, cut their toenails, and make eye contact with humans occasionally. Somehow they craft words into readable “content,” as it’s called these days. They do it for profit often but mostly for the enjoyment of the work itself. That’s the zone I’m shooting for as I find my voice in writing.
Write What You Know
The greatest thing about writing, though, is that it’s practicable by anyone. You can jot in a journal, bless someone with a paper letter, or describe a sunset on social medial. You don’t even have to be literate. You can wax long about anything, and someone could transcribe it. Some of the writing I enjoy most comes in the form of family Christmas letters, Instagram posts, and unrefined newspaper columns by non-professionals such as you find in “I Know A Story” in LNP.
Writing at a Writer’s level is like jumping from a pick-up basketball game on the macadam to the arena rock of an NBA spectacle. If you’ve written term papers in school and now you’re glad you never have to do it again, writing as a profession might not be your court. As a result of my recent study leave, I’m writing a ton more, working on my shot, feeling out the flow of the game.
I can just as easily avoid writing by pulling weeds out of my brick sidewalk, biking downtown to have coffee with a friend, or plunking down on the couch to check off an episode of Barry on HBO.2
Writing my one book was strenuous, even though it was a relatively easy project of culling years of teachings, thoughts, and experiences from my life. Once I determined the scaffolding to hang it all on, it came on like a prenatal baby eager to exit its mother. The delivery required privacy and quiet where I could push. OK, I’m pivoting from that metaphor.
The point is, I got ‘er done in the F&M library, and it spent me. The process—and the regularity of writing these columns—is increasing my endurance for more writing. So look out!
Landing The Ducks
And now it’s time for the ducks of this column to make their graceful landing. No faltering, and absolutely no references to childbirth. On page two of The Becker Almanac one finds this letter to the editor from a Mr. Matt Yucker:
Dear Sirs,
I live in a very populated area in which there are a lot tame pet ducks roaming from their homes. Licenses should be issued to these ducks. I feel that the time has come…
Tragically, the letter was torn off at this point on its way to the Editor’s desk. Never fear, he was on top of his job:
I feel the same way, but if you’ll read the front page…
And that’s not all. There are three more pages of The Becker Almanac stuffed like roast fowl with tasty features: the weather, a “Deep Fried Baby Squid” recipe, and an exclusive interview with baseball great Reggie Jackson.3
For such editorial prowess and literary genius, young me was awarded a 72% grade. Wow. All I can say is Steph Curry was passed over by six NBA teams in the 2009 draft, and Town Character is just getting started!
Coincidence? Study this photo, then decide.
Hypothetical examples, of course.
Not to be confused with the current NBA player Reggie Jackson.