Don't Know a Thing!

I wish I could make some profound statement about how wonderful it was when this novel idea emerged, how it emerged as a light from above that warmed me, filled me, clarified all the mysteries of life and left me with white hair and a perpetual smile. Nah. Just don't remember. If it comes back to me, I'll come back to you and tell all about it.

I wish I could tell you I've an advanced degree from some haoughty-taoughty liberal arts college. I wish I could tell you I've a degree of any kind from a liberal arts college. I wish I could tell you I've taken lots of courses on how to write. I wish I could tell you I've taken classes on writing. What I can tell you is that I'll always strive to be the best writer I can be. I will be a life-long learner in my chosen field and never become complacent.

The greatest influences on my writing skill, in no particular order, I owe to three sources.

One: The Internet. There are thousands of pages available on how to write, accessible by searching and clicking. I have copied and pasted so much content on how to write more better (yes, I know...I wrote that non-correctly on purpose) than I'll probably ever find enought time to read. Suffice it to say that I will strive to be the mostest bestest righter eye can bee and I will yous spell chek awfun.
Note: My wife, after reading these posts, has asked me to go back and edit a few things that somehow made it past spell check. I dedicate that last sentence to my dear, supportive wife.

Two: My appetite for reading. I have read, and heard it said, and seen it writ again, (rhyming dedicated to Dr. Seuss) that "writers read". As an adolescent, throughout my teenage years, and on to adulthood, I have loved to read. Fiction and nonfiction, I've enjoyed them all. My ability to read well at an early age fed upon itself to make me a voracious reader as time progressed. In college I found myself bound to textbooks as I prepared to become a scientist. I eventually became a science teacher, again strongly bound to textbooks. I have come full-circle. I have rediscovered the joy of reading. Fiction and nonfiction, I'm enjoying them all.
And now I'm a writer...a novelist...an author. Cool, huh?

What is the most important thing they teach you in pursuit of a liberal arts degree?
(Do you want fries with that?)
That's is an old joke. I'm an old science teacher. Therefore, a science teacher is an old joke? Ouch!

Three: The most influential source of my motivation and skill at writing has been my mother, Louise Grant. I owe to her my desire to read. She encouraged and guided me at an early age to become a reader. Thanks to her, reading became easy for me. The ability to read and read well has more to do with academic achievement than anything else. Due to my mother's influence, I wrote my first book in the fourth grade. I pulled down volume one of the family's Collier's Encyclopedia and read about the first animal listed, the Aardvark. That was chapter one. Next the Aardwolf, chapter two. Do you sense a pattern here? I don't remember how far I got, but I do remember submitting it to my teacher, receiving a very puzzled look in exchange for the unsolicited manuscript. I wish I still had that book. If she'd edited it, I could have received my very first red-penciled rejection at age 9 and been well on my way to becoming a writer.
Maj-Jong was played once a week at my Grandma Burningham's house. Most of her children were there, all really old adults from an adolescent's perspective, and they had a wonderful time together. It was truly one of the most boring places to be for an man nearlyh grown. I suppose I was seven to twelve years old, somewhere in there. I found an enjoyable way to pass the time (seemed like hours and hours and hours), however. My Grandfather had a series of reference books dealing with all the sciences. Each volume covered a different science. Biology, chemistry, physics, astronomy, geology, they were all there. I would close the bedroom door and read about all sorts of fascinating things. More reading, more learning. If I'd known where all that reading was going to lead, I'd have spent my time carving my name into granny's antiques or something else constructive. But I was a good boy. Oh, yeah, there WAS that time I put a fake crack on her TV screen. It was clear plastic film with black lines on it...bought it at the same magic store I bought the rubber dog poop that ended up on her new couch. She assessed each attempt at humor as equally disagreeable. I leaned a chair against the doorknob that night as I retreated to the bedroom with grandpa's books. When my grandmother and grandfather died, I inherited those volumes...just a minute...water's dripping on my keyboard from somewhere.

All that early history is cute and all, but my best writing memory came later, at Linn-Benton Community College. Barbara Jean's English Composition class. I was 24 years old, fresh out of the U.S. Navy, in my prime, and lookin' good! There was an annoying old lady taking that class with me that continually frustrated me. The first paper I'd turned in was a well-written piece. The papers were graded and passed back a couple of days later. Not bad, a B+! She leans over to see what I got, making sure I could see the top of her paper. She had gotten an A+. Grrrrrrrr. Try as I might, I could not get a higher grade than her no matter how many hours I spent on a writing piece. Not even leaning back in my chair and intertwining my fingers behind my head would work. She got a higher grade than me on every single, dang-blasted, stinkin', con-sarned paper I turned in. That annoying old lady was my mother. Taking that class with her was a treat that I will treasure all my years. SHE is the writer in the family. It's my dream that she writes something for all of us to remember her by. Even if she doesn't, I'll always have English Comp 122.
My children learned to read early. They were read to from the start and encouraged to read at as early an age as they could handle. My youngest, James, was having a hard time in school. His reading was below grade level.
We has been reading scriptures every day (almost) with our seven children. They were all able to read the King James Bible easily except for James. Consequently, we only required James to read one verse, and he needed assistance with that. When we recieved the below-average reading results, Merry came up with the idea to have James read the same number of verses as the rest. .The other kids bellyached a bit about having to slow down for James, but in a few months he was up to speed with the rest. Next time his reading was tested, he was above grade level. The teacher asked what we'd done. The typical Portland, OR elementary school teacher does NOT want to hear that the Holy Bilble was the key. That's not what they were taught in teacher school.