Writing for the Love of It
From Golden notebooks to laptops
The back-to-school sales started with the sidewalk sale on rodeo weekend. Store windows painted with rodeo scenes — a clown in heavy make-up peeking out of a barrel, a cowboy flying from the back of a Brahma bull, a twisting, turning bronco, were obscured by piles of merchandise. Along Main Street, racks of clothing displayed the latest trends and colors. On the tables, new shoes and the most popular comic character lunch boxes awaited eager buyers. Cash registers were set up outside the stores to facilitate transactions so patrons didn’t need to enter the crowded shops to make purchases. They’d all be cleared before parade time but added to the festive atmosphere. But none of the sidewalk sale items appealed to me, so while Mother fussed over clothes for my brother and two sisters, I went straight to King’s Department store, where stacks of notebooks with gold covers, tightly spiraled wire bindings, and clean, mark-free pages tempted me to fill them with stories and ideas.
I was fascinated by the courage and adventure of the Mercury astronauts, so I wrote my first story as a short report about John Glenn and his three-orbit space flight. I admired the speed and innovation of Craig Breedlove, so I followed up with another story about him and his Spirit of America rocket-powered car, which failed to set a world land speed record in 1962. My third-grade teacher praised both reports. I was hooked.
Over the next few years, I filled pages of notebooks with stories: highly imaginative fan fiction, deeply expressive poetry, utterly captivating short stories, and a naïve but ambitious spy novel (or so I believed). Yet, I concealed most of my creative writing under my mattress, the weight flattening the spirals of the notebooks like pancakes, unsure if I dared allow anyone to read it and counter my opinion.
As I grew older, writing became more than a hobby. It challenged me to learn new things: history, science, and current events. By the time I reached junior high school, I dreamed of being an author and a veterinarian, saving animals by day and penning captivating stories at night. Why not? James Herriot, the famous British vet and author, did it.
In high school, Mrs. Petty’s typing class opened another avenue for getting words on paper; the family’s rusty old manual typewriter emerged from the dusty attic. I authored research papers, term papers, reports, and short stories and poems in my free time. Positive feedback boosted my confidence and motivated me to write more. However, typing was cumbersome and slow. Minor errors required erasing or correction fluid; bigger ones meant retyping the page, but I persevered, dreaming of a more convenient and efficient way to create. Finally, as a young married man, I switched to a sleek word processor. The small memory enabled corrections before the words printed on the paper if errors were detected before reaching the fifty-character limit.
Then, in the mid-80s, the personal computer entered my writing world. Tied to the computer desk in the kitchen, I expanded my writing; my journal moved from paper to digital, and I once again wrote for the fun of writing. No more hand cramping from holding a pen, no more stacks of notebooks cluttering the bookshelf, no more correction fluid. The words flowed into digital files, hidden away as securely as if concealed under the mattress unless I hit the print button.
However, life got in the way. Both dreams — veterinarian and author — fell by the wayside. Instead of doctoring animals, I worked in a factory, and in place of short stories, poems, and novels, I wrote dull and uninspiring budget proposals and instruction manuals. They were nothing like the writing I’d loved over the years.
After retirement, I bought a laptop and joined two writing groups to find ways to get back into writing for the love of it. One group focused on creative writing, where I experimented with different genres and styles. The other group offered constructive feedback and encouragement, where I learned from other writers and improved my craft. As a result, I had some stories published in online magazines, print anthologies, and newsletters. Despite the negative critiques that bruised my ego and the rejection letters that still stung, having something I’d written appear in print thrilled me as I felt the rewards of seeing my words come to life.
Nevertheless, from a childhood infatuation with notebooks and paper through experimentation with various tools, such as manual typewriters, word processors, computers, and laptops, my path to creativity and personal growth through writing has always been my escape and my reward. If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is.
