CAREER DAY

Anyone who knows me or has read any of my books and/or columns understands that when it comes to writing, I came late to the party. I was never really trained to be a writer and took only a few creative writing courses when I was in my late thirties. Truth be known, I did that because I thought it would give me some street cred amongst the other, more educated writers I've come across.


I write about what I know and most of the times stay safely within the confines of the niche I created for myself. I’m most comfortable in essay form, but do write a little fiction now and then. I write for myself and if other readers enjoy it, I consider it a bonus.

But upon submitting the most recent manuscript to my publisher, I was surprised to receive back a cache full of red slash marks and the words "dangling modifier" scribbled over half the paragraphs. I don't even know what a dangling modifier is, I had to look it up. But apparently, I was fraught with them.

What surprised me most, however, is that I didn't really care what this editor had written to me. Yes, editors are more knowledgeable than me and more astute at getting the point across. Yes, they probably make a lot more money than me, too. But I've come to the point in both my writing and in my life that I don't really let what other people think bother me. It wasn’t always that way. One of my first reviews was from an anonymous poster who had felt compelled to tell me exactly what they thought of what they had just read.

“You suck!” the anonymous critic had written. “Why don’t you go write for Ladies Home Journal?”


At first I didn’t feel bad, because, hey, I liked Ladies Home Journal. But then I realized it was meant to be a slam against my skill level and what that really meant: I could only write for bored housewives who would read anything.

So imagine my surprise when I was invited to speak as a writer during “Career Day” at the local middle school. I was to talk about my unconventional career path to becoming a newspaper columnist and what I learned along the way. I laughed when I first read the email, since it has taken me years to even introduce myself as a writer, even longer to believe it, although I had been writing professionally for years.


I’ve spoken in public to others before, whether it was at luncheons, seminars, or conventions. I’ve talked about topics ranging from politics to religion and to what I like to talk about most – family life with all its drama and poignancy.

But this was a new crowd for me – 12-14 year olds. My oldest grandson is just entering his 12th year, and my oldest granddaughter just turned 11 – so this was still a long time gone from when my tweeners were running around.


I wondered what I would talk to them about and how I would frame what I wanted to tell them. To not worry about what you share and how much, to develop a thick skin, and don’t go into it for the money, because the famous “Stephen King” discovery stories are few and far between.

I wanted to tell them how good it feels to see your name in print, and when a stranger says in passing “I loved your column this week; it made me cry!” For all the ripped up pages, torn from reams and reams of notebooks that never see the light of day, there are gems that emerge from the rubble, the true diamonds in the rough we all hope to find. It can happen, and there is a lifelong education to finding what works. The world changes; so should the content.


The mini seminars (there were three with rotating attendees) lasted about 25 minutes each, and with the ringing of the class bell announced the change of room assignment. I quickly critiqued myself and vowed to do a little better each time. All were mannerly and interested, for this was something about which they wanted to learn.

As the last of the students straggled in, my eye caught the face of a lone boy, sitting lazily in a chair. He looked at me as if I was the most boring person in the world.


“Don’t you want to be here?” I asked him point blank.

”I don’t know why I’m here” he answered, with one sullen eye daring me and the other eye full of curiosity.


“I’m not a writer, I don’t know why they assigned me to come here!”


Apparently, he had been absent when the students were asked to choose what speaker they wanted to hear. But just as obvious to everyone but him, he was a writer and someone wanted me to talk to him. Most likely frustrated and the victim of one too many criticism falling on yet tender ears, somebody felt he was worth reminding.


He’s a very good writer! mouthed the teacher silently from the back of the room and her smile explained everything.


He needed someone to tell him it was ok to not be like the rest and to write from a different viewpoint. To write from his heart and not to listen to those who say you can’t.


I told them about inspiration and how it’s important to listen to that little voice that tells you to “write something about that.” I shared with them the wisdom to recognize whatever tidbits the writing gods throw your way should not be ignored.


I thought to myself about inspiration and what it really meant as I watched him watch me.

“I suck!” he said again, as he sat back as listened to my spiel about finding my true passion by writing what I knew about and sharing pieces of myself in my characters.


“Kid” I thought, ”We all suck in the beginning, and I’m writin’ about you.”

Thanks for the reminder on Career Day.