This past week, my son wrote an essay for his fourth grade teacher about communication. It started out earnest enough, "If we didn't have communication, we wouldn't know what each other wanted." After that, it quickly evolved into something more post-modern: "Communication is essential in life. I wouldn't be able to write this essay. You wouldn't even be able to read this." I give the boy his props. He was able to keep that ball in the air for the page that he was required to write - nice bit of work.
Today my wife is off at a "Writer's Conference". She is spending the day trying to convince agents and the like of essentially the same idea that my son wrote about. She wants to share her ideas with the world, and what better way than the written word? Creating a "candid" video for "America's Funniest Videos" (what happened to the "Home" in that title?) might be an easier way into the popular zeitgeist, but certainly not as elegant.
I have found, Creative Writing Degree in hand from the University of Colorado, that the written word is a solitary experience for the most part, and its rewards are difficult to track and often no more tangible than the "author's copies" that reward years of effort. I remember vividly the day that the letter came for me from "The Strain". After years of being rejected by everyone from "The New Yorker" to the local paper, someone had finally taken notice of my work. They were going to publish three of my poems in their Spring Issue. I turned up the stereo and danced around my living room. I never got my complimentary copies. I never saw my work in print. Due to the very sketchy distribution of this literary magazine, I don't know if anyone ever saw my work in print.
Since then, it has been my good fortune to have one of my essays included in "Where The Heart Is: A Celebration of Home". This time I assured my readership by purchasing a great many of these collections to send as gifts to those closest to me. This assured that I would be read and, with some cajoling, I would receive feedback on my creative genius. From there I drifted off into the vortex of screenwriting. I have two "finished" scripts on a disc drive somewhere, and a couple of episodes for TV shows that have since been cancelled that never made it past the "spitballing" phase.
The past few years have allowed me the treat of having my work performed on stage. For those of you patient enough to sit through the various productions of the Sequoia Dads' Club Variety Show, I thank you and look forward to next year's extravaganza with great anticipation - a musical comedy version of "Death of a Salesman". Or, in the words of my son, "Communication makes our life better and easier. Thanks to communication, we can read, write, and talk to people far and near." Thanks, communication.
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