What Inspired You To Write
Turning a Public Picker into an Aspiration
“Open the dictionary to the word The, and write the definition five times.” This was every substitute teacher’s punishment for a rowdy, uncontrollable classroom in the ’70s. This was met with unfettered moans, groans, and the occasional sudden stomach ache, followed by a request to go to the nurse’s office.
I was different. There is something about words that I have always loved. I guess that is when I started “people watching,” Until I knew how to pen the words for the fumbling travesties before my eyes, I just watched and let my mind describe the situation. I reveled in taking out that six-pound, 968-page, word bible bound with red thread. Gently turning each delicate onion page, feeling its silkiness on my fingers, staring at the indentations where another letter began. I was in heaven.
Digging my finger into the “T” indentation, I would soak in all of the words until I reached the H’s, where THE had taken up almost the entire page with its definition. Did I enjoy this mindless, penial task? Not in the slightest bit, but I got to stare at Teddy Spinkins from my peripherals for two hours, and oh, I was smitten with him.
Writing from that point throughout high school was a directed task on a particular topic, slant, or doctrine. You were to read information, then synthesize it into a report, just the facts, with no room for any creativity, except on the first day back to school after summer vacation, where you had to write about what you had done for the past three months.
In my first year of college, in Literature 101, our first assignment was to write a four-page paper on anything we wanted. No citations, APA format, or plastic cover. At the time, this seemed like an unattainable task. No topic? No direction? It felt like a setup for failure.
Undenounced to me, I was working on my Freshman 15 as I drove to the local Burger King; when I stopped at a red light, I saw this man picking his nose. A grown-ass man, in public, in the daylight, just picking his nose like no one is around! This burned my ass, and as soon as I finished my double whopper and fries, I rolled a piece of paper into my typewriter and began belting those keys.
An hour later, I zipped the last sheet of paper out of the machine and laid it on top of the four that were face down. I felt a release, a calmness swelled over my body, my mind had the clarity of a deep-diving Loran, and my thoughts were settled. The title, “The Public Nose Picker,” was not revised, edited, or looked at until I placed it on the corner of my professor’s desk at the beginning of class.
The following week the professor had handed back our papers and was very generous with her critiques, however hard on the grading. Each person that received their paper looked at it, grunted, and stuffed it into their satchels. Mine was missing. Sometimes in High School, the teachers collated the reports by grade; the best ones on top, the lower your grade in a pile, the lower your grade.
My heart sank; this was the first time I thought about the title and body of the paper, and I began to become sullen. The professor stopped and said, “ Ladies and Gentleman, I will read one of your papers out loud” She began, “The Public Nose Picker.” I felt so small I could crawl under the top left staple. I could hear my classmates chuckle, then laugh. I lifted my head to see engaged gazes and smiling faces. Pride kicked the embarrassment to the curb, and I felt elated hearing my words come out of her mouth and dance across the ears of my classmates.
That was the day that inspired me to get my observations out of my head and onto paper or screen. There is something cathartic about writing and even more satiating when the stories resonate with people. It is therapy swirled with excitement and topped with a heaping about of passion. Words are powerful; when strung together, they can take you on adventures near and far or allow you to revisit some of your fondest memories and pull up a chair and stay as long as you’d like.
