The Arrogant Amateur Writer

"The skill of writing is to create a context in which other people can think." - Edwin Schlossberg

Learning how to drive a car is relatively easy. Learning how to boil an egg is very easy. Bike riding also is as easy as it looks - writing is not. Writing is an underappreciated art form that is anything but easy. There are far too many people who associate writing to throwing words onto a page and making them form sentences, these people are often oblivious to how difficult the creative art writing is.

As a writer, I have been on both sides of the spectrum. I've undervalued the fine of art of writing while never having any experience with writing outside the public school setting. Because I undervalued the craft of writing, one day in an effort to prove that writing wasn't nearly as difficult as they say it is, I challenged a professional writer.

I said to him and myself that I was going to write the next great short story about a young man with emotional disabilities and his interactions with his beloved dog. That was my story fully planned. Ricky Bernard, the professional writer and part time English professor, knew that I was nothing more than a cocky young guy who thought he knew everything but in fact knew nothing at all. I had to prove him wrong.

Ricky was a substitute English teacher at my high school. One day when he was giving us a lecture about writing and the imagination and creativity that is required to write a compelling story, I raised my hand and commented that writing is not all that difficult at all. "Any moron can write." I said. I had a lot to learn.

Ricky bet me with no money on the line. If I was unsuccessful, he simply wanted me to admit that I was wrong and that writing wasn't very easy at all. I never gave any thought to the possibility that I just may be wrong. The possibility of being made a fool of didn't bother me. Why should it? I was a writer and writing is simple. I told Ricky that if I won the bet, he'd have to pay me one hundred dollars. He took the gamble.

I immediately thought that Ricky (the man with a master's degree in English) was a sap. "How could my idea possibly be bad?" I thought to myself. It's a sympathetic story and who doesn't love to feel apathy for a character like the boy and his affection for his dog? I began writing that afternoon.

I named the boy David and the dog Spike. Giving the characters names like David and Spike proved that I lacked creative imagination, two very crucial elements of story telling. I was given a time frame of thirty days to write a one thousand, five hundred word story on the boy and his beloved dog. The narrative was to have been, edited and proofread thoroughly before submitting it to him for review.

Ricky explained that I would need to write two to three drafts before the story is suitable for submission. I was to treat my story as if it was going to be turned in to a publisher or editor. Writing so many drafts at that time seemed silly to me. I never thought that you'd have to write then re-write then re-write again. It all seemed so redundant and silly to me.

There was no way I was going to do all those drafts. I was confident that I didn't have to write all those drafts because my story would be a great one. I was simply that damn good. I didn't need the thirty days. I told Ricky that he grossly underestimated my writing talents and abilities without ever having written a thing! He simply laughed and wished me good luck.

I handed in my piece of literary genius twelve and a half days later, eighteen days prior to my deadline. He wasn't one bit surprised that I hadn't utilized my allotted time and instead submitted my story early. Ricky submitted the story I titled "A Dog's Owner" (again the title show's I lacked creativity) to his panel of "judges" who were editors, publishers and English professors.

To save me some humiliation, they were told that I was a student of his and that he was submitting a story by a first time writer who was sure he had written a masterpiece. I believe I even used that word to describe the story to Ricky when I submitted it. I was confident.

I was certain that out of the seven panelists, at least three would fall head over heels in love with my work and even consider submitting it to various competitions. The panel read my seventeen hundred and fifty word story in unison. (Another amateurish mistake was that I ignored the suggested word count of fifteen hundred by writing a seventeen hundred word story.)

Their verdicts came a few minutes after they read my work. The first guy to speak was named Samuel and his opening words were: "This has got to be the most insipid and repugnant piece of trash I have read in twenty five years. It's right up there with every trashy romance novel ever written." My heart dropped. I still sat stone faced. He was wrong. My story was great. I ignored him.

Ricky nodded in agreement with my first reviewer. The second panelist was a middle aged man named Vincent Harper. He had salt and pepper hair, spoke with a slight European accent, wore a heavy beard and had the coldest pair of eyes I had ever seen outside a horror move. His review was perhaps the most damaging to my falling ego.

"The only thing more worthless than reading this trash would be to give the author the satisfaction of reviewing it," he said. He then referred to my story as "utter drivel" and said that the author should never show his face in that room because he'd certainly be ostracized from the writing world as an insult to the written word.

Ricky soon began to show signs of embarrassment that he had shown my story to the panel of distinguished writers. I had finally heard enough. I lied to Ricky about having an appointment to that I wasn't able to reschedule and walked out of the door. Ricky soon followed.

"What's wrong, Jeffrey?" He asked knowing full well what was on my mind.

"They all hated my story?" I asked in great disbelief.

"I'm sorry, Jeffrey." Ricky said trying to console me. He was a very graceful winner. He took pity on me and gave me the one hundred dollar bill anyway.

"I've taken the liberty of purchasing a subscription to a couple writing magazines and a few books on the art of creative writing." He said. I found them to be very helpful. He gave me those books and magazines years ago and I still have those books today. I've also continued the magazine subscriptions by renewing them every year.

The one hundred dollar bill I was handed out of pity is still nice and crisp in an envelope with the original copy of my tragic first attempt at creative writing. It serves as a constant reminder that much like heart transplant surgery, writing is not easy.

Jeffrey Williams: When Jeffrey was younger, he never dreamed of ever entertaining the notion of becoming a writer. He wanted to be a fireman , priest, race car driver or a child psychiatrist. That all changed one day when he was channel surfing in search for something to do that wouldn't bore him to tears. It was a scorching hot Sunday afternoon with temperatures in excess of ninety degrees. He was lying on his floor with the remote in his hand dying for something. Then inspiration came. he happened upon the "Lifetime" channel that was airing one of his favorite sitcoms, "The Golden Girls." The episode was about Blanche's discovery that she was meant to be a great Southern writer. Following the episode, he decided to write a story himself. The rest, as they say, is history. He caught the "writing" bug and was hooked. He has never stopped writing.

Email: Jeffrey Williams

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