Scott Simon

I don't listen to a lot of NPR any more because I prefer to read the news, but I often check the NPR website and I try to keep up with Scott Simon's weekly essays. Simon is a national treasure and should you require proof, his program from the week after September 11, 2001 is most beautiful and moving.

Much more recent is his essay about Christine Blasey Ford's testimony to the congressional committee considering a Supreme Court nominee. I found Ford's testimony moving and convincing. I find Simon's essay artful, graceful, and a spot-on consideration of the testimony and the ways in which we should be thinking about sexual assault.

Simon is kind. There can never be too much kindness in this world. He is a thoughtful writer, speaker, and thinker. If you're not reading or listening to his weekly essay, I can't recommend enough that you seek him out and pay attention. In these times, we need more Scott Simon and less of so much of the other news.

John Z

My friend John has a blog I enjoy and to which I wish he would post more often. This might get in the way of him having a job and a family, but really, shouldn't he be thinking of what I want? His entry from last Friday is a good one about the look, feel, and influence of mass-market paperbacks on who he has become as a writer. I stole the picture above from that post.

John often says nice things about me in emails and sometimes on his blog. I'm glad because I'm vain (he likes me, he really likes me!) but also because he's a guy who churns out whole novels and has agents. This sort of thing floors me. I've been writing forever and have hardly even sent anything out to be considered for publication, let alone worked with an agent. And John writes books. Not just essays, short stories, or poetry, but big freaking books. In other words, he has taken this writing thing to the next level. A level I imagine but have not done enough to achieve.

He's also an English teacher. We met at a summer institute for teachers years ago. I remember thinking then that he couldn't stand me, that my writing was absolute drivel to him. It surprised me when he said otherwise. We don't see each other much in person, but he sees my kids in the halls of that school, we follow each other's blogs, and we have kept a steady trickle of correspondence going.

Knowing John helps me feel like a writer by association. Maybe it works that way for him too,though I can't imagine he needs the reassurance.

Sometimes the power of association is what I need in a friendship. Sometimes that's what I can give in return. Though we hardly ever see one another, the friendship works and reminds me of times long ago when distance was so much more difficult to bridge and letters took weeks to go between.

We used to connect some on Facebook and Twitter, but I quit social media this summer. That may mean less contact with him and I'd be bummed about that but instead I'm encouraged to get together in person and buy him a beer. I've got a lot to learn and I want to know what he's working on now. We could talk a while maybe, to get things going, but pretty soon I imagine we would both be itching to get to our laptops and get back to writing. Writers have that effect on each other.

Go read John's blog. Follow him on Twitter too. Just because I'm off social media is no reason to miss out on his stuff. You can thank me later.

Confessing Typewriter Heresy

I'm typing the first draft of this on one of my two remaining typewriters. I had three, but I've gotten rid of one in an act of heresy to which I'm now confessing. I sold the third because I'm sure that two typewriters is the most I can possibly need. While I have no regrets, I fear excommunication from the typosphere. Thus, this confession

My first typewriter, the 1938 Corona Sterling is the most beautiful machine I know. From the curved lines of the burgundy case to the glass keys, it is stunning. It arrived on the first anniversary of my father's death two years ago. He too was manufactured here in Syracuse, NY in 1938 and every time I type on the machine it evokes the happy memory of him. No machine can top that.

Knowing that I would need to send the Sterling out for service and a new rubber platen but not wanting to be without a typewriter, I found a 1951 Smith Corona Silent on eBay. The pictures looked good, the price was right, and the seller rated well. When it arrived, the machine was in excellent shape, but I wasn't thrilled. The elite font and general character of the letters on the page weren't right. Unlike the Sterling, the Silent was not love at first type.

Within a week of buying the Silent, a 1971 Olympia SM-9 appeared on Craigslist. The seller lived an hour away. The price was too low, but I went for a drive and found a beautiful machine with a problem carriage return that could be easily fixed. I paid the seller full price after encouraging her to take more. No, she said, I want it to go to someone who will use it. I have used it for sure. The action on it is spectacular and the font is gorgeous.

For a year the Silent has been, well, silent. That has bothered me. So too has the feeling that owning three typewriters has me leaning toward collecting typewriters, something I don't even want to get into. I can't afford such things and don't want to be weighed down by too many possessions. This is why, when a friend mentioned that his daughter wanted a typewriter for her birthday, I made him a good offer and sent the Silent away. I typed a note to her explaining the care and feeding of the machine. That's the last I'll ever type on it.

She may or may not join the typosphere. The Silent may be more decoration that writing tool, though I challenged her to type at least one school assignment on it. What she does with it is her decision.

Forgive me, but I'm a happy two-typewriter man now. I understand the lure of collecting typewriters and respect those who do, but I'm a heretic when it comes to all that. I don't want to collect; I want to write. Two typewriters are more than enough for me to type on and on and on.

Complicated?

I'm reading Richard Russo's The Destiny Thief, essays mostly about writing, and wondering why I've made so little progress at the craft. I'm a better writer compared with the boy I was in high school, the man-child I was in college, and the guy I was a couple years ago. I've learned some things, but I haven't learned enough to become a writer, someone who wrings his bread from the page. How come it's so complicated? Why can't I make it happen?

This got me remembering notes I wrote in the car outside the high school pool waiting for my daughter. I posed questions and then answered them in ways that were obvious but maybe a little unexpected. For example:

Want your phone battery to last all day? Stop using your phone so damn much.

I quit social media last month and am gaining distance from it. The first week wasn't tough but I still felt drawn to the stuff. I only occasionally feel the twinge now, but my accounts are all deactivated. Because of this, my phone has become less important. I never developed the habit of taking pictures often. I gave up writing or note-taking on it. I wear an analog wrist watch, so I don't need the phone to tell me the time. Without the social media slot machine to occupy me, I have few reasons to use the phone and usually plug it in each night with more than half a battery charge remaining.

Tech companies have to worry about how to make a phone battery outlast all-day use, but I can just choose to use the phone less. Miracles work this way. Solutions come out of the unexpected. I got the battery I wanted without changing phones. I changed me instead.

This has what exactly to do with writing?

It's no wonder that my writing career hasn't gotten off the ground. To fly, I need to move into the wind swiftly. I should work with other writers (something I tend to avoid), send work out for rejection or publication (something I dread), and take a class to develop and evaluate my abilities (something I might have trouble affording).

If I want a writing career, I'll need to apprentice to the craft and to the crafts-people working professionally as writers. Duh. So obvious. How did I miss that?

I was probably on my phone.