You have to understand something. Art comes from somewhere. I have heard several writers that I respect say, it is a discipline, and to a certain extent, that is true, but it's almost misleading. When a person who is not by nature a writer hears this, it is nearly telling them that it takes no talent to be a writer. All you have to do is sit down with a pad and pen, or word processor, or a typewriter for four hours a day, and you too can be a writer. Again, that is almost the case, but not really. Tactfully,yes, you can write something, and you may actually discover you are skilled at putting sentences together enough to form some readable essays, yet you might find it is an up-hill climb to attain a finished piece that others will enjoy reading,and actually finish,and sniff around for more. And, where that certainly is the goal of a dyed-in-the-wool writer,it is not just the finished work that is their goal, but the process itself is their passion! See, the difference is not in the composition, it is in the composing that the joy lies.An analogy that has always driven me to distraction is the old saw about putting a gang of monkeys into a room full of typewriters,and they could write a novel like War and Peace! Grudgingly I have to concede the point, but only if you have a bunch of editors that love those monkeys, with nothing else to do for the rest of their natural lives, the thing might be accomplished. But only if the editors in question had a real love of the job,and a flair for finding gold in garbage! Just as an aside, this famous phrase was probably in part responsible for my utter disgust of monkeys! My point being, anyone who can read and write, can write, the question is, how well? To my dismay, I have had friends and acquaintances who, from time to time, found out that I was a writer, and feeling that they had something to say, or a calling, if you will,and have come to me with a sample of their own writing, and asked me to read it. Always, with kindness and an open mind, I have taken the story...it's always a story, and agreed to let them know what I think of their creation. It is then I know what a creative writing professor at the local community collage feels like on a weekly basis.Some I have handed back almost immediately when I saw it was hand written on a legal pad,and given them a handful of typing paper,and the use of my flower and fairy filled machine,otherwise known as my Underwood scriptor typewriter, and asked them to type it up for me. Better they spend a few hours in my office doing the good old hunt and peck, than I burn my eyeballs to cinders trying to decipher their hand scribblings.Invariably at this stage I usually got the argument that they didn't know how to type, and couldn't I do it for them? No, I couldn't.You know what you wrote, and will be able to figure it out better than I could.Besides,I have never had a rough draft that didn't improve greatly by being transcribed.This is the beginnings of the process.I write it down on my steno pad when the idea comes to me, and more or less block it out on paper first, then when I go to type it up, somewhere along the line, (If it's any good to begin with) a major inspiration will hit me,and from there on the piece writes itself,with breaks in between to look up words, visit Mrs.Murphy,obtain drink and eats.From that instance on, until I am done, nothing else exists, unless Yon son needs me,or I happen to fall asleep. Sometimes, I get through the whole schpeal to my impromptu pupil, and in wide-eyed amazement they take the legal pad and the proffered typing paper, and meekly go to the typewriter, close the door,and get to work. Some few have left all but the legal pad and escaped out the back door,and never bring up the subject again, but to ask how my book is going.Others spend an hour or two sweating and straining,and call me asking for help when they get hung up on something, and then say,I think I'll take it back and have my sister,(cousin, girlfriend, boyfriend, mom or roommate) type it out for me,and bring it back later. Sometimes later turned out to be never, or a year later, or a month later. Once, it was a week later, and the whole thing was just one word typed out without a break in between, except the title and the end! LOL! I just tried to duplicate this style with that last sentence, and my hands absolutely would not allow me to do it.That old thumb just kept hitting that space bar without my being conscious of it! Moving right along, the stories that have come back have been a real adventure.Most have been predictable, with lots of bad language and action, and very little in the way of plot, or conversation. Motivation and continuity was so laughable at times I have come back to the person and told them what a funny story I thought it was, only to be told it was a mystery. Now, I am going to correct myself here, because only one time did I make that mistake.I do try not to hurt people's feelings, because I have had my share of rejections, and I know how deeply that hurt can go. After that time, I chose my words carefully, and when I saw that I had miss-interpreted the author's intent, I salvaged what might have been another sad event. But, being a nice guy, so to speak, (hey! Ladies can be nice guys, too, you know! My rules, I make them up!) I have found myself slogging through some truly awful stories, full of bad grammar, mixed syntax, rambling on for two pages over something as insignificant as the color of the girl's hair,and how beautifully it blended with her coat, which was fascinating, but it had nothing to do with the plot, and she with the hair was only a peripheral character anyway! Even worse, that description was the best part of the story, so I couldn't ignore it.I cannot tell you how many started out with "the dark and stormy night" and the next sentence, the hero had not moved, or mentioned time passing,and the sunlight was burning his eyes! I have even been handed a typed up work that said: this is a story about Jack, a mechanic who met a girl called Alice one day, and they decided to do this and then that happened and so then this happened, and that is why you should never do this. the end. I handed it back,and said, it sounds like it might be a nice story.Go write it. They young lady said, I did write it. I said, no, you gave me an idea for a story. A description. Now, you need to go write the story. Don't tell me what happened, show me! And that, right there is the difference between a writer,and a non-writer.A non-writer can come up with ideas, but can't fill in the blanks. The writer, can't easily come up with just a brief description,if we could, we wouldn't have to write a book, don't you see? It has to do with the way an individuals mind works. A word, a question, a phrase can inspire me to write, because that source, all unknowing, can touch in me a spark that will bring out a chapter, or even a whole book, because I make a connection, I fill in the blanks, automatically,and it's not something that can be learned, or taught.If one has "It" and the passion to pursue it, some way some how, the tools necessary will be found. I failed typing in high school, because I had other, more important things on my mind at the time. My father was dying. School was the furthest thing from my mind.Yet, later, when I decided to get serious about my writing, I taught myself to type. Except for some certain physical limitations, "I can't do it" is not in my vocabulary, if I want to do it badly enough. So, without being aware of it, I suppose you could say that my quirk of not reading budding writers offerings written out in long-hand, ( or worse, printed in pencil, or crayon!) on a legal pad, was just my way of weeding out the wannabees, who felt they had to prove something to the "writer",of whom they were in awe,or jealous of, or perhaps they thought, that I thought I was hot stuff, saying I was a writer,when down deep, their opinion was, " anybody can write." If only they had understood that there was no reason for them to feel such things for me, or my calling.I wasn't trying to be grand,or anything other than what and who I am. I am a writer.It is what I do, that's all. Real simple. To be fair, I never told anyone who tried, that they couldn't. That is not my call. If I did that, I would be no better than some to whom I have turned over bits and pieces of my work, and got back criticism that addressed everything but the actual story, such as punctuation, strike-overs,and other like technical stuff that obviously could be fixed later. Those comments never failed to fill me with frustration because I wanted to know what they thought of my ideas, the flow of the story,the plot, and how I did with fleshing out characters. Instead, I got the feeling they were taking the position of an English teacher. I didn't want it corrected, I wanted input! I still do. Leave me a comment,and see how easy it is to inspire me!
On the other hand, if you relly want to be a muse, adopt a writer who needs a companion to bounce ideas off of. Be a friend, who will come running at a phone call, any time of the day or night, to help them talk through a difficult passage, or tweak their vision of the work they're involved in.Stand ready to read their work for them, aloud, so they can get a sense of where they might have lost their focus when the work comes to a stand-still,and their biggest cheer-leader if and when they find themselves blocked.Sounds like a big job, I know, but what the heck? Do it well, and you just might find a novel dedicated to you one day...
OUI?
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