Tuesday, June 28, 2005

A sound like someone trying not to make a sound

Tonight, my mom asked me why I don’t write books like John Irving.

So, first, let us pause here and recognize the fact that I am not John Irving. I have not lived his life. I have never wrestled. I did not go to Exeter. I have no fascination with little people. I have experienced my fair share of farting Labs but something tells me that the ripe asses of family pets was not the sole ingredient to Irving’s success.

What Mom meant when she asked me what I don’t write books like John Irving was why, precisely, I don’t write books like John Irving.

As in putting words onto paper and having other people read your words and getting your name on a cover and, thus, making Mother proud.

It’s not the first time my mom has told me to write a book. And she’s not the first person to suggest it.

I hear it a lot, actually.

I tend to smile at the suggestion before extinguishing it with my doubts. Books are so long. Books take so much dedication. Books are born of ideas. Books take time. Books require skill.

But I think that I could do it.

But I don’t say that.

I say that I wasn’t meant to be an author. The subject is quickly replaced with college football and the local GAP with the best clearance rack. Safe things. My preference.

And while we snicker at the mere thought of Britney Spears tackling motherhood, I toss around authorship in the back of my head.

It has a good weight to it.

3 comments:

ropedncr said...

hey. a compilation of your blog posts (plus comments from people willing to contribute) could make a good book. just a thought.

Robert_M said...

Your writing is very good. You don't have to take on anything so large as a book, but you could easily do essays or a memoir that would be wonderful.

Mrs. Architect said...

I would definitely buy your book! I love your style and your sense of humor.

 
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