I was playing on the floor in Bruce Zike’s bedroom when I learned that “real” people wrote for publication. Real people in the sense of the neighbor’s mom getting what I –15 years later–learned was called a “by-line” in a magazine.
Tracy ran in waving the magazine for us to admire. She flipped through the already dog-eared pages to show us the article. “See? My mom’s a writer!”
Bruce barely looked up from the blocks, but I felt the rush of excitement and jaw-dropping surprise. I touched the sleek pages, it was a woman’s magazine I’d seen before, The Ladies Home Journal. Tracy ran off to show Mrs. Zike and I returned to a world that had just upended itself into a different focus. Mothers could write for magazines. Mothers probably could write books. Would it be possible for me?
And thus at the age of five a dream was born. Maybe, someday, I could see my name in print, too.
I already knew how to read–the siren call of books and words had caught me early. Perhaps because my father read so intensely every night, sitting in a pool of light beside the radio listening to classical music and turning the pages of huge tomes or The Wall Street Journal. When he discovered I had figured out how to read, he invited me to snuggle close and pick out words on the newsprint. I could have done that all evening long, the delight of having my busy father’s attention, the joy of sounding out the longest words he could find on the page, the thrill of learning.
I’m feeling it all over again, nearly a half century later, and on my late father’s birthday.
We didn’t know any writers, though my parents had a college friend who dabbled in Sci Fi (and what an odd man he was) and my father’s penchant for writing my mother poetry. It still seemed such a mystery, to write stories people you didn’t know would read and enjoy. The power!
Fortunately, I loved Little Women and Jo March taught me about scribbling women, the maturing nature of rejection and the overwhelming awe of seeing your name in print. It finally happened to me on a regular basis when I got to college and I became a reporter for The UCLA Daily Bruin.
Amazing to see my name in black print on a newspaper page. I confess, I loved the days I had a front page story and would pause when I saw students reading the paper–taking in MY writing, MY words, MY thoughts.
Oh, the power.
It got even better when I became the crime columnist and I’d hear people reading my stories out loud. One of the best days was at the dorm front desk when the clerk picked up the paper and cried, “Great! Here’s Crime and Punishment, my favorite column in the whole paper!”
“You’re just saying that because I’m here,” I said.
He looked puzzled. “What difference does that make?”
I pointed at my name. “That’s me.”
“Really?” He looked down at the article. “Why don’t you write more punishment?”
The critics are always with us.
The Internet and blogs, of course, give us all opportunities to see our names in cyber-ink. Do you feel that same excitement at knowing your words are read by people you don’t know?
Thoughts? Reactions? Lurker?