Can't Beat Those Early Influences
Posted by Andie Ryan Blog at 3/30/2010 9:50 PM 
Categories: Writing Life
Tags: monster writing influences Lovecraft citizenship Oakland public schools Baltimore Orioles Cthulhu Mythos Pittsburg Pirates Roseanne H.P. Lovecraft Oakland A's 1971 World Series San Francisco Giants
Categories: Writing Life
Tags: monster writing influences Lovecraft citizenship Oakland public schools Baltimore Orioles Cthulhu Mythos Pittsburg Pirates Roseanne H.P. Lovecraft Oakland A's 1971 World Series San Francisco Giants
"When did you first want to be a writer?" people ask me.
Seventh grade started out with the 1971 World Series in which I picked the Pittsburgh Pirates to win against the defending Baltimore Orioles. I was the only one in my class who picked the Pirates to win. I was probably the only kid in Northern California who acknowledged a choice for the Series that year, because the Pirates beat the San Francisco Giants three-to-one to win the National League Championship Series, and the Orioles thumped the Oakland A's three-zip to take the American League pennant. If I weren't enough of a nerd child before that memorable October, picking the Pirates sealed the deal and started a scourge of Pirate-themed playground hazing.
I had no innate understanding of baseball or sports underdogs.
But there were the Pirates' caps, which were unlike any other baseball caps and therefore the coolest baseball caps in existence.
Dad also taught in the Oakland public schools. We would have needed special dispensation to root for Baltimore.
Baltimore took the first two games, and my prediction's hopes looked dire. But the Pirates prevailed, and boys didn't tease me after that. They all secretly thought Baltimore was a slam dunk and were stunned at my lucky prescience, even though the Series went the full seven games. The only thing better would have been for me to hit a real home run on the playground. The best I could do was sail a kickball over the fence a few times.
I should have been a soccer fan.
I think it was the entire class who entered a diocesan essay contest about Citizenship that winter. I have no recollection now of what I wrote, nor do I have a copy of the original essay. Those were carbon paper days, and there were no Xerox machines or hard drives at our disposal.
On March 24, 1972, my teachers announced that I placed third in the contest. When they called my name in class, I wondered what I had done wrong -- there would have been a few things to choose from. But that day was to be a happy occasion, teachers beaming, principal proud, classmates stunned once again.
The next fiction outings featured classmates and scary stories -- people coming out of the ground, strange cults in an isolated house. These stories gave my little sister nightmares, much to my delight. My fascination with the unseen monster, and how one's imagination is far worse than reality, still hasn't left me. (Check out the Cthulhu Mythos by H.P. Lovecraft -- a collection of short fiction -- to gain some insight into just how original modern science fiction and dark suspense is.)
When my sister's daughter was old enough to read my early stories, she wondered what nuthouse in the world could be persuaded to take me. Unseen monsters know no generational bounds, I guess.
The point is, I didn't have to place first in that essay contest to know what I would do someday. It was like a switch, like believing the Pirates would win. Something got awakened that early Spring day in 1972, and it doesn't go away, even through long periods of career dormancy, child-rearing dormancy, or any one of many Other Priority dormancies -- we all have them.
You know if writing, on whatever level, is something you want to do. You know you observe things in ways that many others don't, and you know your power of invention. Stories begin to accumulate in your mind, and if you're lucky, you get some chances or even stolen moments to put them to paper.
Remember Roseanne, writing while her son slept? What a great "writer episode" that was.
Whether to read to your kids, to perform at family gatherings or reunions, or for your eyes only, few things have the ability to provide insight more than putting words on paper. If you have that voice in your head nagging for you to put your own words down, give it a shot.
Hit your own home run.
Seventh grade started out with the 1971 World Series in which I picked the Pittsburgh Pirates to win against the defending Baltimore Orioles. I was the only one in my class who picked the Pirates to win. I was probably the only kid in Northern California who acknowledged a choice for the Series that year, because the Pirates beat the San Francisco Giants three-to-one to win the National League Championship Series, and the Orioles thumped the Oakland A's three-zip to take the American League pennant. If I weren't enough of a nerd child before that memorable October, picking the Pirates sealed the deal and started a scourge of Pirate-themed playground hazing.
I had no innate understanding of baseball or sports underdogs.
But there were the Pirates' caps, which were unlike any other baseball caps and therefore the coolest baseball caps in existence.
Dad also taught in the Oakland public schools. We would have needed special dispensation to root for Baltimore.
Baltimore took the first two games, and my prediction's hopes looked dire. But the Pirates prevailed, and boys didn't tease me after that. They all secretly thought Baltimore was a slam dunk and were stunned at my lucky prescience, even though the Series went the full seven games. The only thing better would have been for me to hit a real home run on the playground. The best I could do was sail a kickball over the fence a few times.
I should have been a soccer fan.
I think it was the entire class who entered a diocesan essay contest about Citizenship that winter. I have no recollection now of what I wrote, nor do I have a copy of the original essay. Those were carbon paper days, and there were no Xerox machines or hard drives at our disposal.
On March 24, 1972, my teachers announced that I placed third in the contest. When they called my name in class, I wondered what I had done wrong -- there would have been a few things to choose from. But that day was to be a happy occasion, teachers beaming, principal proud, classmates stunned once again.
The next fiction outings featured classmates and scary stories -- people coming out of the ground, strange cults in an isolated house. These stories gave my little sister nightmares, much to my delight. My fascination with the unseen monster, and how one's imagination is far worse than reality, still hasn't left me. (Check out the Cthulhu Mythos by H.P. Lovecraft -- a collection of short fiction -- to gain some insight into just how original modern science fiction and dark suspense is.)
When my sister's daughter was old enough to read my early stories, she wondered what nuthouse in the world could be persuaded to take me. Unseen monsters know no generational bounds, I guess.
The point is, I didn't have to place first in that essay contest to know what I would do someday. It was like a switch, like believing the Pirates would win. Something got awakened that early Spring day in 1972, and it doesn't go away, even through long periods of career dormancy, child-rearing dormancy, or any one of many Other Priority dormancies -- we all have them.
You know if writing, on whatever level, is something you want to do. You know you observe things in ways that many others don't, and you know your power of invention. Stories begin to accumulate in your mind, and if you're lucky, you get some chances or even stolen moments to put them to paper.
Remember Roseanne, writing while her son slept? What a great "writer episode" that was.
Whether to read to your kids, to perform at family gatherings or reunions, or for your eyes only, few things have the ability to provide insight more than putting words on paper. If you have that voice in your head nagging for you to put your own words down, give it a shot.
Hit your own home run.
Great Post! Thanks for the encouragement...
It is interesting how much one can learn from children, even from ourselves as children. Instinctively, and at a point in time where there isn't a whole lot of stored experiences that would either encourage or discourage them from pursuing true interests, children innately know what they want or like; or know they would be good at a particular something. And if they are lucky enough, maybe these early pursuits lead them to something that brings them happiness later on.
Most of us however, are not that lucky...to have found something early and making it a career or life-long hobby. But writing is different. Writing, if it is in your blood, can be taken on at any point in one's life. There are no barriers to entry. No age limits. All you have to do is sit down and start. It doesn't matter where it takes you. If you want to write, then start writing.
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