I Never Write Right

Posted 2023-04-25

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I Never Write Right

WhenIwasfifteen,IannouncedtomyEnglishclassthatIwasgoingtowriteandillustratemyownbooks.Halfthestudentssneered,therestnearlyfelloutoftheirchairslaughing.“Don’tbesilly,onlygeniusescanbecomewriters,”theEnglishteachersaidsmugly,“AndyouaregettingaDthissemester.”IwassohumiliatedIburstintotears.

ThatnightIwroteashortsadpoemaboutbrokendreamsandmailedittotheCapri’sWeeklynewspaper.Tomyastonishment,theypublisheditandsentmetwodollars.Iwasapublishedandpaidwriter.Ishowedmyteacherandfellowstudents.Theylaughed.“Justplaindumbluck,”theteachersaid.Itastedsuccess.I’dsoldthefirstthingI’deverwritten.Thatwasmorethananyofthemhaddoneandifitwasjustdumbluck,thatwasfinewithme.

DuringthenexttwoyearsIsolddozensofpoems,letters,jokesandrecipes.BythetimeIgraduatedfromhighschool,withaCminusaverage,Ihadscrapbooksfilledwithmypublishedwork.Inevermentionedmywritingtomyteachers,friendsormyfamilyagain.Theyweredreamkillersandifpeoplemustchoosebetweentheirfriendsandtheirdreams,theymustalwayschoosetheirdreams.

Ihadfourchildrenatthetime,andtheoldestwasonlyfour.Whilethechildrennapped,Itypedonmyancienttypewriter.IwrotewhatIfelt.Ittookninemonths,justlikeababy.IchoseapublisheratrandomandputthemanuscriptinanemptyPampersdiaperspackage,theonlyboxIcouldfind.I’dneverheardofmanuscriptboxes.TheletterIenclosedread,“Iwrotethisbookmyself,Ihopeyoulikeit.Ialsodotheillustrations.Chaptersixandtwelvearemyfavourites.Thankyou.”Itiedastringaroundthediaperboxandmaileditwithoutaselfaddressedstampedenvelopeandwithoutmakingacopyofthemanuscript.

AmonthlaterIreceivedacontract,anadvanceonroyalties,andarequesttostartworkingonanotherbook.CryingWind,thetitleofmybook,becameabestseller,wastranslatedintofifteenlanguagesandBrailleandsoldworldwide.IappearedonTVtalkshowsduringthedayandchangeddiapersatnight.ItraveledfromNewYorktoCaliforniaandCanadaonpromotionaltours.MyfirstbookalsobecamerequiredreadinginnativeAmericanschoolsinCanada.

TheworstyearIeverhadasawriterIearnedtwodollars.Iwasfifteen,remember?InmybestyearIearned36,000dollars.MostyearsIearnedbetweenfivethousandandtenthousand.No,itisn’tenoughtoliveon,butit’sstillmorethanI’dmakeworkingparttimeandit’sfivethousandtotenthousandmorethanI’dmakeifIdidn’twriteatall.PeopleaskwhatcollegeIattended,whatdegreesIhadandwhatqualificationsIhavetobeawriter.Theansweris:“None.”Ijustwrite.I’mnotagenius.I’mnotgiftedandIdon’twriteright.I’mlazy,undisciplined,andspendmoretimewithmychildrenandfriendsthanIdowriting.Ididn’townathesaurusuntilfouryearsagoandIuseasmallWebster’sdictionarythatI’dboughtatK-Martfor89cents.IuseanelectrictypewriterthatIpaidahundredandtwentyninedollarsforsixyearsago.I’veneverusedawordprocessor.Idoallthecooking,cleaningandlaundryforafamilyofsixandfitmywritinginafewminuteshereandthere.IwriteeverythinginlonghandonyellowtabletswhilesittingonthesofawithmyfourkidseatingpizzaandwatchingTV.Whenthebookisfinished,Itypeitandmailittothepublisher.I’vewritteneightbooks.Fourhavebeenpublishedandthreearestilloutwiththepublishers.Onestinks.Toallthosewhodreamofwriting,I’mshoutingatyou:“Yes,youcan.Yes,youcan.Don’tlistentothem.”Idon’twriterightbutI’vebeatentheodds.Writingiseasy,it’sfunandanyonecandoit.Ofcourse,alittledumbluckdoesn’thurt.