Anguish for Writers
“I want to be a writer,” I said to a friend.
“You? You can’t be a writer,” she snorted.
“Thanks a lot. I’ll get better with practice you know.”
“No, that’s not what I meant. Any idiot can write, go look at the bookstore. It’s you, personally. You’re way too cheerful to be a writer.”
“What’s wrong with cheerful? I like cheerful. It makes me happy.”
“Happy doesn’t sell. You need to explore the deep dark caverns of your soul. You need to get in touch with your inner anguish.
“I have lots of inner anguish!”
“You have inner picnic”
“Says you. How do you know that I’m not a perfect graveyard of buried hopes? Hey, that’s a good one—I should write that down.
“It is a good one, L.M. Montgomery already used it. Name one regret.
“Okay. How about that lady at the grocery store whose foot I ran over with the cart the other day? I still feel really bad about that.
“That wasn’t your anguish. The lady with the hurt foot had the anguish.”
“All right smarty. I’ll have you know that my very earliest memory is one of longing and disappointment.
“Ok, what happened?
“Well, you know those horrible iron cribs and neglected children they show in documentaries about eastern bloc countries? That is my first memory. Pretty bleak right?”
“You were an orphan?”
“I’m not, but when I was about three, my family traveled to Romania. We all came down with food poisoning so severe we had to be hospitalized. I had it the worst and nearly died.”
“Oh wow, that must have been awful. Being so little, you must have been scared to death.”
“What? Oh, maybe. I don’t actually remember any of that part.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“The crib! They put me in a crib! Even though I was a big girl!”
“Uh huh.”
“And then, to add insult to injury, they brought in some nice rice pudding for my mother but gave me horrible brown baby food. I’m still holding a grudge.”
“That’s your big regret?”
“It looked like very good pudding.”
“Better go on keeping that story to yourself. Try again.”
“How about the home perm Mom gave me? I’m sure I carry some inner scars from that.”
“I’m sure you do. I’ve always wondered what happened to your hair. But I think we can go a little deeper.”
“This is all very one-sided, what about you?” I complained.
“You want to hear more about my past? Well, just last night…”
“Well golly! Sharing these memories sure has been refreshing! I’m just sorry I have to run.”
“Oh no you don’t. Sit down and think. Isn’t there anything in your past that you wish you could change?”
“Ummmm, ok. I’ve got one. This one still burns me up.”
“Burning’s good. Let’s hear it.
One Fourth of July, I was waiting for the fireworks and had just bought a big cold drink. Sitting in front of me were these two idiots being loud and crude. When we all stood to sing the national anthem, they got even worse. They were making fun of the song, the lady singing and everything.
“Jerks. What did you do?”
“Well, I was so mad, all I could think was how much I wanted to dump my drink on their heads.”
“Good for you!”
“But I didn’t do it! I didn’t do anything! If only I had that chance over again!”
“Hum. You’re getting warmer, but I don’t think it’s anything the tabloids would buy.”
‘Wait! I’ve got it! A lifelong dream missed, an opportunity never to return.”
“Finally! I knew there had to be something; Let’s have it.”
I took a deep breath, “I once saw an ad for the most perfect, magical job in the world. A company needed me to taste bacon and write about it.”
“That does sound perfect. What happened?”
“I steadied my voice and said, “By the time I saw the ad, it had already expired. All that bacon, lost. Gone, gone forever.”
My friend looked toward heaven and sighed. She patted me on the shoulder,” Keep on writing, maybe the anguish you cause others will count.”
“You? You can’t be a writer,” she snorted.
“Thanks a lot. I’ll get better with practice you know.”
“No, that’s not what I meant. Any idiot can write, go look at the bookstore. It’s you, personally. You’re way too cheerful to be a writer.”
“What’s wrong with cheerful? I like cheerful. It makes me happy.”
“Happy doesn’t sell. You need to explore the deep dark caverns of your soul. You need to get in touch with your inner anguish.
“I have lots of inner anguish!”
“You have inner picnic”
“Says you. How do you know that I’m not a perfect graveyard of buried hopes? Hey, that’s a good one—I should write that down.
“It is a good one, L.M. Montgomery already used it. Name one regret.
“Okay. How about that lady at the grocery store whose foot I ran over with the cart the other day? I still feel really bad about that.
“That wasn’t your anguish. The lady with the hurt foot had the anguish.”
“All right smarty. I’ll have you know that my very earliest memory is one of longing and disappointment.
“Ok, what happened?
“Well, you know those horrible iron cribs and neglected children they show in documentaries about eastern bloc countries? That is my first memory. Pretty bleak right?”
“You were an orphan?”
“I’m not, but when I was about three, my family traveled to Romania. We all came down with food poisoning so severe we had to be hospitalized. I had it the worst and nearly died.”
“Oh wow, that must have been awful. Being so little, you must have been scared to death.”
“What? Oh, maybe. I don’t actually remember any of that part.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“The crib! They put me in a crib! Even though I was a big girl!”
“Uh huh.”
“And then, to add insult to injury, they brought in some nice rice pudding for my mother but gave me horrible brown baby food. I’m still holding a grudge.”
“That’s your big regret?”
“It looked like very good pudding.”
“Better go on keeping that story to yourself. Try again.”
“How about the home perm Mom gave me? I’m sure I carry some inner scars from that.”
“I’m sure you do. I’ve always wondered what happened to your hair. But I think we can go a little deeper.”
“This is all very one-sided, what about you?” I complained.
“You want to hear more about my past? Well, just last night…”
“Well golly! Sharing these memories sure has been refreshing! I’m just sorry I have to run.”
“Oh no you don’t. Sit down and think. Isn’t there anything in your past that you wish you could change?”
“Ummmm, ok. I’ve got one. This one still burns me up.”
“Burning’s good. Let’s hear it.
One Fourth of July, I was waiting for the fireworks and had just bought a big cold drink. Sitting in front of me were these two idiots being loud and crude. When we all stood to sing the national anthem, they got even worse. They were making fun of the song, the lady singing and everything.
“Jerks. What did you do?”
“Well, I was so mad, all I could think was how much I wanted to dump my drink on their heads.”
“Good for you!”
“But I didn’t do it! I didn’t do anything! If only I had that chance over again!”
“Hum. You’re getting warmer, but I don’t think it’s anything the tabloids would buy.”
‘Wait! I’ve got it! A lifelong dream missed, an opportunity never to return.”
“Finally! I knew there had to be something; Let’s have it.”
I took a deep breath, “I once saw an ad for the most perfect, magical job in the world. A company needed me to taste bacon and write about it.”
“That does sound perfect. What happened?”
“I steadied my voice and said, “By the time I saw the ad, it had already expired. All that bacon, lost. Gone, gone forever.”
My friend looked toward heaven and sighed. She patted me on the shoulder,” Keep on writing, maybe the anguish you cause others will count.”