“
I enter the courts of
ancient men, where, lovingly received by them…I am not ashamed to speak…and
they, in their humanity, respond to me.”
I can’t say why it is that I write. It’s a constant, unwavering urge, to wind up
stories and fight to turn them into real works. I’m the baboon waving its ass at kids visiting
the zoo; I just feel compelled.
When I was six years old, my parents gave me a six-inch
stapler with a plastic yellow cover. I
scribbled words and crayon sketches on notepads and stapled the pages
together. At age nine, I had started to
realize that my childhood dream—of being Minnesota Twins centerfielder Kirby
Puckett—was probably not realistic. Instead,
I admitted to myself that I loved reading more than baseball, and that I never
felt as vigorous as when I was creating those little books out of notepad
scribbles. At that point, I was
determined to become an author.
As I grew into a teenager, I dreamed of being like
Minnesota’s most celebrated writer, Scott Fitzgerald. I wanted to run off to France and live in a
state of excess and semi-dissipation, writing astounding novels that brought
not (necessarily) fabulous wealth, but enough to maintain a modest flat with a
fridge full of liquor in a European capital.
Some more years passed and I came to terms with the facts that a) this
lifestyle generally leads to depression, ill-health, and an early death, and b)
to actually live it, I’d need a hell of a lot more supporting talent. I moderated my expectations and set myself up
for a more mellow career, but I haven’t given up writing.
Thus, I’ve committed myself to continuous work and
continuous improvement. However, I’d
like to think I’m not going at it alone.
I’ve had several great writing teachers whose lessons still
shape the work I do every day. However, my
single greatest source of instruction—and the most inexhaustible—has been other
authors. I’ve loaded up two bookshelves
with the best writing teachers there are.
That is my goal for this blog; to highlight excerpts of
great writing, and unpack the lessons within.
Diction, syntax, detail, or character creation; hence, the title of this
blog: Slova, Russian for “words” (слова). I’m looking out for words that work, and
finding out why.
A few
disclaimers before I close. My biases
and preferences will probably become obvious before long. I read a lot of noir and hardboiled works—and
do most of my work in that genre—so consider yourselves warned. I read very few contemporary authors, with
the exception of Umberto Eco. I will
almost certainly write a piece about hockey before too long. I want to write a blog that helps me, and
anyone else, understand good writing.
