Why I Write

When I was in high school they tried to teach me how to write. They failed. 

My 9th grade began in September 1970. Americans had just experienced a decade of change, radical change. Teachers were facing demands that the content in classes be current, relevant, and less rigid. So, while they still taught Silas Mariner they also taught Kurt Vonnegut and Jack Kerouac. Run on sentences abounded. Cartoon blobs served as punctuation marks. Contemporary literature in the 1970s was a very confusing genre.

I remember a few lessons about writing a paragraph. You know it should coalesce around one idea, have and opening sentence that gave the focus of what would follow and a summation sentence. Vague memories persist of a day of one teacher drawing lines on the chalkboard trying to show us how to diagram a sentence. For me it didn’t sink in. Comparedto reading Cat’s Cradle or On the Road learning grammar was dull. And also, I was stoned. One's ability to comprehend structured intellectual concepts when stoned is compromised. But now and then some content seeps in.

But I come from a family with a long history of oral story telling. You know, maybe the better term is confabulating. If you have seen Tim Burton's Big Fish you have seen the kind of narrative I heard growing up. There were stories about bears peering into cabin windows and people taking lightning hits and living. I was always afraid of lightning. When I gotnervous my grandmother would show me a scar on her arm from surviving a lightning strike and tell me not to be afraid.

As I grew up I gathered my own tales of drunken canoe rides, of luging in Norway, and of having the most wonderful time driving through the Rockies. There are stories of sitting on stage for a Muddy Waters show and in front of the stage at an early Bruce Springsteen show. How did that happen? Well it was just because of the shirt I was wearing. I mean how great is it that I can honestly tell you of my personally insulting Tim Burton?

When I began to work for the state of Michigan in 2000 I took my breaks at a coffee shop. As one does over coffee I would talk to the baristas and the other patrons and we would swap stories. One of my friends repeatedly told me to write these tales down. Finally, I listened to her.

With poor spelling, atrocious grammar and words too big for my own good I started a blog. Over the years I have kept writing. Sometimes I step back and edit older stuff because with the new AI powered grammar checking I can make some tales more readable. But I am still creating new stuff because I am constantly having adventures and fun. Once I started down the storytelling path I couldn’t stop.

Oh yeah and my writing hero is, drum roll please, Jean Shepherd. I think the tale about his old man riding the salt and pepper shaker at the county fair is one of the classics of American short story literature. You can have little Ralphie from A Christmas Story. Tell me the story of drunken guys trying (and failing miserably) to assemble a Sear’s house any day.

As long as my brain works, I will keep typing stories about my recent and past experiences. We humans have a traditionof sitting around campfires and telling long tales intended to entertain and impart wisdom. So my plan is to throw another log on the fire as I sit by Gitchegumme and wave my arms about in the firelight talking of life's hilarious and heartfelt moments.

A note about the following video.  As I was working up this post I decided I needed a song that involved writing.  First thing that came to my mind was Richard Thompson's Tear Stained Letter. I simply typed in the title and came up with all sorts of folks singing songs called Tear Stained Letter. As one might guess there are several distinct and different songs by that title.  When I came upon this one I never knew Jo El Sonnier had ever covered Richard Thompson's song let alone made a music video for it.  The video is so weird it is hilarious. It has been a minute since I watched anything with Judge Reinhold in it.