A number of months ago I unabashedly watched a holiday romantic movie. I say unabashedly because I have the enviable ability to watch these shows and acknowledge the ridiculous writing, characters and general plot while happily and carefreely munching on a giant bowl of cheddar popcorn. In my movie choices, I have absolutely zero standards except I enjoy very little reference to the real world and its terrors and sadness. And I like a lot of cheese, in my popcorn and plot line. It’s a low standard I know. Anyway, the plot had a writer as one part of the love story. I knew he was a writer not because I heard his work, but because he had glasses and a sweater. Those are indeed the first requirements to writing. Glasses? Check. Sweater? Check. Proceed. It was as if the wardrobe department went to get costumes at a Halloween store. Lets see…writer? Aisle 13. Right past warlocks, witches, women in scantily clad costumes (that takes up most of the aisle and is actually overflow from the previous four), and finally, ahh, yes here it is, writers. Glasses denoting a profound intellect and a sweater so the writer doesn’t get chilled as blood rushes to the brain.
It is this depiction of the writer that interests me.
If you recall get-togethers, you might remember titles of work are socially important. I once had a title too. Now I have another. I am a stay-at-home mom. Yes, a SAHM. I don’t even get the full name. The actual name, stay-at-home-mom, is so long it is as if someone forgot to shorten it to make a title. For you Office fans, I’m akin to “the assistant to the regional manager”. Tonight my three year old out of the blue said “mama is a worker”. I like that. It isn’t an acronym and states the role plainly. A little like I work for a communist regime, but let’s face it, I do. It’s called family. Highly inefficient. All money goes to the state. Corrupt. I eat more chocolates than anyone else and let’s face it – a lot of our money is keeping me in coffee. But a worker I am.
In addition to my title of “mother” I have a mind to be a….wait for it…writer. Which brings me back to my ability to watch really terrible romance movies.
How can a person announce – come out if you will – they are a writer? How loudly would people laugh about the woman who declared herself a writer but hadn’t actually written a book? Or maybe they would offer pity instead. Poor, poor “assistant to the regional manager”. What was her name…Sam? Well, when does someone get to give themself the title and more importantly does it come with a crown? And will Meghan take that too? Admittedly, the last one was a bit of a tangent.
I once heard a commercial for learning to read. It stated if you wanted to contact the organization look under “L” for learn. And no, they weren’t trying for levity for the illiterate. They were attempting, perhaps poorly, to open the doors to the written word. An admirable action. The “L” was the place to begin a journey into the literate world and hopefully one filled with good writing. Finding the “L” can be just as tricky as finding good writing. It is good writing that connects us to the greater experience. A world that must be safeguarded, nurtured, and by no means perpetuated by trends and knee jerk reactions. Good writing may point out errors in judgment, make readers uncomfortable and illicit a desire to cull. Some writing will contain ugly truths, but these truths give way to discussion and debate. There is an open mindedness and connection to history in good writing. One should not receive bonus points for each popular phrase scattered throughout the rhetoric. This is a world in which I would like to belong.
I can write. I suspect you can too unless you really only just threw yourself into the reading bit and ran out of time. The question is now, how do I move this idea of writing along? I have already embraced the cliche of “mother”. Grey hair, a scowl I catch in the reflection of the car, ill-fitting clothes, tired, oh so tired, and if I see a crumb on your face I may wipe it off despite our status of strangers. Well, COVID may discourage that last one but COVID may be putting pressure on other cliches as well such as that of the writer. I am ready to embrace this cliche as well.
I don’t need glasses to write so I have opted for sunglasses tonight. Corey Hart must not have tried this because sunglasses at night are not helpful at all. Maybe that’s why he was pouting. I suppose my new squint in the darkness will make me look more pained as any good writer must.
Now I must find a sweater. Not a turtleneck. Too pretentious. I don’t want my sweater speaking for me. It would probably speak the Queen’s English. Slightly less. A cable knit. Just the right amount of pretension. In case lobster fishing or a cold breaks out, I am prepared. Draped in an intellectual sweater and writing during COVID may make the writer cliche more bleak. More Nietzsche esque. He and I wearing the same sweater, dammit. How embarrassing. Who wore it better, Vogue?
And do I have to ponder a lot? Noticeably? Can I be doing something useful like the dishes or must I find a window seat somewhere? Perhaps just a recessed window where I may perch a la The Thinker, slightly more clothes, and not get too comfortable. Also, I need to be committed to the ponder. Perhaps a quirked brow would not be remiss? To what others say. To my own thoughts. Or perhaps odd noises the dog makes.
Drinking I suppose. A scotch? In excess more than likely. Depressed? Too wise about the world not to be. I can’t drink myself into a stupor. I still have that mom cliche, remember? Not committed enough to this trade. I would like to put forth another trait to replace the drinking. I can eat an inordinate amount of M & M peanuts. Costco style. I’m not boasting. It’s self-medication in a crazy world. My dedication to the craft allows me to reach nausea and push through. I can see I should stop but another small bowl would be perf…nope, too far.
As a writer do I need to follow trends? Do I need to discuss my privilege? Do I ask permission to those lurking and delivering scathing rebuttals of my position, omissions and word choice? Current social rules demand I make clear statements of my political leanings and social position while genuflecting . I must say the right things or say nothing but saying nothing damns me as well. I must simultaneously say much and say nothing. Confused? Yes, I think they have us.
Perhaps I am not ready. I may need to look under learn too. Back to the costume bin.