Time for writing is hard to come by. Demand for other things is often stronger, since no matter how determined the mind is, the body has a stronger urge.
Jack wondered if this was true in his case. He never had any difficulty writing police reports or newspaper stories after he left the force and went into journalism. As his editor often put it, "The good stories write themselves."
Fiction, however, was different. Even after he read that many famous authors began in journalism and used their research for Page One stories as a starting point for novels that later became best sellers, he still had trouble getting started.
Actually, time was not an issue, since he retired on two pensions -- one from the police department and another from the newspaper -- plus there was his monthly Social Security check, and his wife Marion was still working at her job as a librarian.
Even so, he resented the idea that stories were so difficult to formulate -- a fancy word for putting words on paper, he told himself.
"Why is writing so difficult?" he once asked Marion. "You're a librarian; what do authors say?"
"They give many reasons," she replied. "Some say it's a matter of patience. They have to wait while the story readies itself in the back of the brain, and then they just push a pencil around while the words come out."
"Others say they have to set a certain time each day, sit at their keyboard and put words into the computer without worrying about whether they make sense, because they'll rewrite the whole thing later," she said.
"That sounds like a lot of work and repetition," Jack said.
"It is," Marion replied, "but that's the way it works for them. For others, it works even differently."
"Different strokes for different folks, as we used to say. Is that it?" Jack asked.
"That's it exactly," Marion agreed. "I have read several books claiming to teach people how to write successful novels, and they all list a myriad of ways to do it," the librarian added. "At the end of one book, the closing chapter tells the aspiring writer to pick the one that works. For them, that is, because they all work, in different ways for different writers."
"Sounds like I should just do it, then get an editor to clean it up and polish it, then an agent to take it to market and persuade publishers to buy it," he said. "Even then, someone has to persuade readers to buy copies."
"So either you get someone to else to do all that, or you put on your agent hat and do it yourself," Marion said. "Most writers can't so they never get published," she added, "unless they go to what's called the vanity press and pay them to do it."
"How about you? Can you do all that for me?" Jack said.
"I could, but I won't," Marion answered. "I love you, and I want our marriage to continue."
Fiction, however, was different. Even after he read that many famous authors began in journalism and used their research for Page One stories as a starting point for novels that later became best sellers, he still had trouble getting started.
Actually, time was not an issue, since he retired on two pensions -- one from the police department and another from the newspaper -- plus there was his monthly Social Security check, and his wife Marion was still working at her job as a librarian.
Even so, he resented the idea that stories were so difficult to formulate -- a fancy word for putting words on paper, he told himself.
"Why is writing so difficult?" he once asked Marion. "You're a librarian; what do authors say?"
"They give many reasons," she replied. "Some say it's a matter of patience. They have to wait while the story readies itself in the back of the brain, and then they just push a pencil around while the words come out."
"Others say they have to set a certain time each day, sit at their keyboard and put words into the computer without worrying about whether they make sense, because they'll rewrite the whole thing later," she said.
"That sounds like a lot of work and repetition," Jack said.
"It is," Marion replied, "but that's the way it works for them. For others, it works even differently."
"Different strokes for different folks, as we used to say. Is that it?" Jack asked.
"That's it exactly," Marion agreed. "I have read several books claiming to teach people how to write successful novels, and they all list a myriad of ways to do it," the librarian added. "At the end of one book, the closing chapter tells the aspiring writer to pick the one that works. For them, that is, because they all work, in different ways for different writers."
"Sounds like I should just do it, then get an editor to clean it up and polish it, then an agent to take it to market and persuade publishers to buy it," he said. "Even then, someone has to persuade readers to buy copies."
"So either you get someone to else to do all that, or you put on your agent hat and do it yourself," Marion said. "Most writers can't so they never get published," she added, "unless they go to what's called the vanity press and pay them to do it."
"How about you? Can you do all that for me?" Jack said.
"I could, but I won't," Marion answered. "I love you, and I want our marriage to continue."
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