Biography

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HOW I BECAME A GREAT WRITER

 

Lest you think me vain, let me explain the title of this piece: I’m a greater writer than I would have been and this essay will explain some of the reasons. As for my standing in comparison to other writers, I’ll let you decide that, but whatever you do don’t tell me the results because you’ll either hurt my feelings or further inflate my already insufferable ego. I’m perfectly satisfied knowing that I’m as good as I can be, whatever that is.

I grew up on a farm in rural northwest Iowa. Rembrandt was the nearest town, about four miles away, a small burg of 200 souls. That’s where I attended high school.

 

My first experience in creative writing came in sophomore English class when Mrs. Schneck gave us a writing assignment for homework. She asked us to write a story on a subject of our choice, and it had to be two pages in length. Classmate Rich Hegna immediately wanted to know, “Do you mean two pages on both sides?” That brought a big laugh from the rest of the class and from our mentor. 

 

I recall going to class the next day and, on the way into the room, hearing many of my classmates remarking about what a tough assignment it had been. I thought it was going to be tough, too, until I actually tried it. Somehow, I thought it was a piece of cake, one of the easier assignments we’d ever been given.

 

Mrs. Schneck read some of the pieces in class, maybe all of them; there were only a dozen or so of us. Somehow she went out of her way to make laudatory comments about my story, something I wasn’t used to. In fact, the only comments my homework normally elicited were on the order of, Why didn’t you do it?

 

Since this was one of the few assignments I ever deigned to complete, I suspect Mrs. Schneck took this opportunity to provide re-enforcement on a rare positive action by me—she was hoping I might be inspired to complete another assignment sometime! I’m now convinced that my essay (subject escapes me) was no better than any of the ones produced by my classmates. But her admiring comments made me think that I actually had a flair for writing. Even my classmates raved, but what did a bunch of 15 year-olds really know about great literature? They thought my writing was good only because Mrs. Schneck said it was.  

 

Looking back, I’m amazed that she didn’t roll her eyes even once while reading my piece and I have no idea how she managed to control her gag reflex.

 

 

Not realizing Mrs. Schneck’s motives at the time, I took her encouragement at face value, that I actually had talent in this area.  

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In ensuing years, I took several creative writing classes to further hone what I considered to be my already prodigious talents. I also sought out opportunities to write, volunteering to write all sorts of professional documents at work, as well as essays and letters for the enjoyment and elucidation of friends and relatives. I fearlessly tackled any writing assignment that came my way in my personal and professional life, and with good results. An eager writer with less talent will normally produce a better product than a reluctant writer with more talent. Plus, I had a ton of confidence (probably misplaced) and that helped a lot.

 

When I retired, one of the first things I did was appoint myself the PR guy for my senior softball league, sending in scores and stories to the local papers. I also sent in a few articles to a local magazine and that struck a responsive chord. The editor got in touch and asked if I’d like to be a regular contributor, an offer I jumped on like a duck on a June bug. For six years I wrote at least four articles a month, one each on books, dining, classical music, sports, and any other subject that occurred to me. My personal record was seven articles in a single issue. I was nothing if not prolific. The magazine went out of business in 2006, probably because they were publishing my stuff.

 

A sports writer at the local paper (the guy who received my submissions) came out to the ballpark to watch us play softball one day. After the game he said, “Ed, I like your writing style. How’d you like to co-author a book with me?” A book about what? “I don’t think the guys who came back from the Vietnam War got a fair shake,” he explained, “and I’d like to give them a chance to tell their side of the story.”  

 

Boy was he talking to the right guy! To make a long story short, my co-author never got around to writing his half and I finished Warriors all by myself. Just think about that: One of Mrs. Schneck’s worst students ever became a published author and all because of a little positive reinforcement from her. I’ll bet she doubted that I’d ever read a book, let alone write one.

 

Digressing wildly for a second here, I recall my first day of school at RHS and learning that all freshmen were required to take typing. Hmm, I thought, I guess they think all of us, even the boys, are going to be secretaries! But it looked like an easy class so I didn’t complain too much. Back then I wasn’t looking too far ahead, just trying to get through high school with a minimum of effort while staying eligible for sports.

(Fast forward about 30 years)

 

I worked in Atlanta for the Army most of my career. The organization was huge, scattered around the post in old, WW-II-vintage buildings, about 20-30 people per building. Then, in 1988, we all moved into a big, new, modern office building, about 2000 of us. When I say “modern,” I’m talking state-of-the-art automation. We moved from the Stone Age with maybe one computer per building to one with a computer per desk. Secretaries typing up correspondence written by action officers became a thing of the past. If you were an action officer and wanted something typed, you had to get with the program and start punching those keys.

 

Many folks had never been on a computer before, and those folks were sent to a two-week class on office automation. Some had never even been on a typewriter and really were behind the power curve. Others had taken typing in high school yet still didn’t adapt too well. Many folks had a sharp drop in production because they couldn’t type nearly as fast as they could write longhand. I was just the opposite—I could type much faster than I could write, so my production went up.

 

Interestingly, I had an older guy working for me who had never taken typing and didn’t want anything to do with computers. He even refused to read his e-mail, never once booted up his system! He eventually retired rather than learn to use a computer. And he was one of my computer systems analysts!

 

I also had a retired Army lieutenant colonel working for me at the time. He had taken typing in high school and claimed to have gotten Bs in the course, yet he was the proverbial hunt-and-peck typist. All he ever used were his two index fingers. Meanwhile, I had gotten Ds (or worse) in high school typing but could burn up the keyboard, comparatively speaking. That led me to formulate the following syllogism:  

  

 

-A D student from RHS is a fairly efficient touch typist.

-A B student from another school is a two-finger, hunt-and-peck typist.

-Therefore, a D student from RHS is at least the equivalent of an A or B student from some other school.

 

Please excuse a little jingoism for my alma mater.

I remembered thinking those many years ago, I’ll take typing but I’ll never need it. Now you know why I never made a living as a prognosticator.

 

Sometime in the ‘90s I attended one of the Rembrandt all-class reunions, also attended by Mrs. Parker, the principal and typing teacher when I was in school. I’d been dying to ask her a question and did not miss my opportunity. “Whose idea was it to make typing mandatory at Rembrandt High?” She admitted, “It wasn’t me.” If we ever find out who that farsighted person was, we should erect a statue!

 

As explained, typing served me well in my professional life and also in my avocation, creative writing. I can’t imagine how writers did it before they had computers to assist them. How in the world could they manage all those revisions and corrections using pen or pencil? A one- or two-page document, okay, but a book? I’d have gone through a ton of erasers, so I’m happy I never had to do it the old way. All that’s required these days is the DELETE and INSERT keys, or cut-and-paste to move things around. What a snap!

 

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Getting back on point, Mrs. Schneck got my creative juices flowing and Mrs. Parker taught me how to type. All of our teachers did their best to prod us to our maximum capabilities in each subject. They didn’t think I was a D student (actually, I was but they didn’t think I should be), and pushed me without much success. I was lazy and unmotivated, plus I was hyperactive and had Attention Deficit Disorder long before such conditions had even been identified. Everyone just thought I was a rotten, little kid.

 

My writing and typing abilities served me very well professionally, and have been a boon to me since then, too. I’ve had a book published, two actually, along with close to 400 newspaper and magazine articles. I retired at age 55, not wealthy by most standards but comfortable. Of course, marrying a bright girl who happens to be a financial whiz helped a bit. I hope I don’t sound boastful here because none of this is really a big deal, except that I was a D student.

 

That should beg the question, If a D student did that, what did the good RHS students do? The answer is: They did very well. Nearly every class who graduated from Rembrandt High can boast of a doctor or professor, or at least a couple of folks in their ranks with other advanced degrees. To give you some perspective, bear in mind that the average class size at RHS was less than 20—my graduating class had only 12. Thus, the average student from RHS can hold his/her own with students from just about any other school.

 

When I’m on a writing project, like a book, I am driven. Writing is hard work, at least it is for me, more tiring than physical labor. As a result, I sleep like a baby at night. During the day and at the keyboard, I’m positively euphoric. I’m an upbeat person to begin with, but writing sends me to heaven. What a wonderful gift my high school teachers have given me.

 

I am proud as I can be to add my faint glimmer to the brilliant glow given off by the other alumni of Rembrandt High School.