Passing Dirty Notes-I Don’t Think Hemingway Started This Way.

You will be happy to know that no one dies in this blog post. My first posts had to do with Father’s day and the 5th anniversary of my fathers passng. Then there was the death of Nora Ephron.   A good friend asked that my next post be about kittens and pudding. So naturally this made me think of sex and writers block.

 My purpose for this blog was to get me writing again. We have all heard of “Writers Block.” It takes many forms, for many reasons. For me I think, at least in some small way, It has to do with a girl named “Ivana.” She was my high school sweetheart.  Her name wasn’t really Ivana, but I always wanted to date an Ivana and figured this was my chance. “Ivana” was a nice girl. A VERY nice girl. So nice that most boys knew she wouldn’t do what most high school boys hoped most high school girls would do.  Her parents seemed thrilled with my interest in their daughter, since no one else had shown much. Let me be clear. I was no steal. My last girl friend was in elementary school. She ate her boogers like they were gummy bears on a conveyor belt whizzing by. As for me, I had glasses so thick that I could never walk with the sun behind me because I became a fire hazard. But I liked her. She was sweet. 

One day she approached me at my locker, with a look in her eyes that made me search her hands for an apple. She leaned in and whispered, “I want you to write me a dirty note that I can read in study hall! *giggle*” I looked at her. She still looked like Ca…Ivana. “But we haven’t even…You know.” I said looking down at my feet creating imaginary half moons with the tip of my hush puppies. “Do it for me!” she chanted.  I was VERY uncomfortable with this.  I liked boobs as much as the next guy. But I called them boobs. “I can’t do this!” I thought to myself. She pressed. Letting me know that this could lead to my first “payment” as a writer. “If you can write it, maybe we can do it.” she teased. This both excited and scared the crap out of me. I did it. But because I wanted to make her happy.  I used a bunch of words that I heard when I snuck into Saturday Night Fever. It is the most uncomfortable, unnatural writing I have ever done. I gave it to her as she went into Study Hall, with the singular instruction of destroying it after she read it.  But the little minx kept it. Then minx’s Mom found it. There is a story here, but the short of it is my life got a little ruined for a time. 

I have wondered recently if it’s effects were more lasting than I thought. As a writer does it affect what I am willing to put out there? Am I afraid that the voice I write in will be seen as mine, not a characters? Finding the courage to write is part of my process right now. But I should also write with faith in the reader. But above all I must write in a true voice. Even if it is fiction. Like making pudding out of kittens.  

Published in: on July 6, 2012 at 6:29 AM  Comments (1)  
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One CommentLeave a comment

  1. i find that my most effective writing IS in my own voice – i hear my own voice when i read it, and that helps the flow of the text to sound more real and, well, flow. 😉

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