That's Why

In a few weeks, I will begin my third writing class since last spring's epiphany that if I wanted to be a writer, I had better get around to writing something. Did you ever see the (apparently now unavailable) Someecard that pictured a man with a briefcase alongside the phrase "I'm an angry writer type who hasn't written shit"? That was me.

Now I can proudly say that I HAVE written . . . shit. But at least it's writing. Honest-to-goodness words on a page strung together to try to make a point.

The first two classes I took were fiction short story classes through the miraculous Lighthouse Writers Workshop. This time I'm staying closer to home and taking a creative non-fiction class through CU - Boulder. I won't miss the weeknight drives to Denver, sluggish in the best of circumstances.

Since I spilled a beer all over my computer last weekend and haven't had it at my disposal the last few days, I've been doing a bit more reading than usual. First I quietly reclaimed the book I bought my husband for Christmas and have spent the last few days utterly immersed in the uncommon life and outrageous death of Pat Tillman. If you want to read a story that will first renew your faith in superheros and then break your heart, pick it up. There is little sense in trying to describe why this book is so great; it is written by Jon Krakauer and if you've read anything of his, you know of his ability to weave together history and philosophy and freak events to tell a true story that you won't believe even though you saw the headlines yourself. The story is more than great, though - it is important. I keep starting sentences to explain why but I cannot do it justice. Read it. Please.

Now I'm starting the textbook for the next class. It's a collection of essays by nonfiction writers which each end with an exercise or two. The first essay asks the reader to answer the question, why do you write?

The answer to that question is so deeply personal as to be almost unanswerable, for me at least. But having it asked has caused me to take note of the things that stir the creative impulse. And in reading the excerpts from Pat Tillman's journals that are included in Krakauer's book, I recognized at least one of the reasons I like to write, which is that I like a good conversation, even with myself. Tillman was good at taking stock of his life, and left his own testimony to it in the process. I like the exercise of summing up, casting things into a context that makes sense to me. Life is not just a series of random events, even though it is always unpredictable. There is a discernable arc to it, dictated by a person's passions and interests and circumstance. I like to take note of these things, so I can keep myself trending in the direction I want to head. Even though his life was cut short, Tillman's writing reveals that it was lived consciously, on his own terms, to great glory indeed. That seems like a goal worth writing towards.