Writing Right with Dmitri: Shifting Gears

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Writing Right with Dmitri: Shifting Gears

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Written on 1 July.

No, this isn't an automotive column. I know as little about cars as I do about the wiring of my house, which went ker-flooey this past week, melting the cable that comes into the router, locking the garage door mechanism (I didn't install an automatic garage-door opener, it came with the house, don't blame me for this techno-nightmare), and causing all sorts of headaches for the power company, some professional electricians, and the boys from the cable company. They fixed it. And my computer wasn't hurt, so I cared not a whit for all the fracas.

But in the back-and-forth that accompanied being without internet for two whole days, and having to walk over to the public library to send emergency emails to h2g2 and my work clients, I 'shifted gears' a lot. One minute I was listening to a seventy-year-old lineman not only explain what was wrong with the power, but how he'd been doing this, man and boy, since the Johnson administration – and the next, I was over at the library writing to someone about the Boxer Rebellion. While out, I learned that I'd somehow missed the bear that made its appearance the day before in broad daylight, about a block from the house, up on Main Street. (They don't even break a sweat around here when a bear shows up in front of the pizza place. They're cool like that.) Then I got my 'net access back, caught up with the history course, and dashed down the road with my relatives for the Fourth of July sales, where we acquired patio furniture, knitting yarn (long story if you haven't been reading it in the Post), ice cream, and the obligatory fireworks. Then it was back home to write something else. While writing today, I got a phone call from my sister, who said her visiting grandson walked in his sleep and fell downstairs. He was all right, but suffering from the shock of waking up in mid-tumble. Grandson and his dad were at the doc's for x-rays, while Grandma was resting from the ordeal of being up half the night.

Now, at the end of a week like this one, I realise several things:

  • I am tired, and glad Monday is a national holiday.
  • I am grateful for public libraries.
  • It has been an eventful week.
  • I have collected enough funny or interesting anecdotes to fill a book.
  • I'm kind of glad I'm a writer.

Why do we write? Well, if you're like me, you write partly in order to digest experience. While it's all happening, things can be pretty much in a jumble in your head. Recalling events at leisure – and taking the effort to put them down in order – can clarify your own thoughts. I'm kind of a slow thinker, sometimes. I need more than a split second to decide what I think about things. I enjoy the periods of reflection provided by writing time.

There's an even better reason for writing, I find. It gets everybody else out of your head. Unless you live around laconic people – and saying I do not, here in the talkative U.S. of A., is a massive understatement – you have a lot of other voices in your ear all the time. (And taking out the hearing aids doesn't really work. They notice, and get mad.) Writing is your opportunity to try the ideas out on yourself, rather than trying to wedge them into daily conversation. It gives you the peace and quiet and open space you need to let those ideas breathe.

Another reason for writing is that it makes you more attentive to other people's experiences. When they tell you a story, you pay better attention than you used to, right? Because you might want to repeat that story? Or you might want to change it around a little and put it in your next piece of fiction? Aha, thought so. And that makes you a better listener.

Am I saying that writing is character-building? Sure. Am I saying that it's good for your mental health? Absolutely. With this kind of writing, it's not terribly important whether you get paid or not. (Contract work is something else. The check had better be in the mail.) And it's not crucial that you have 10,000 hits on your blog. A few 'right readers' will suffice. What's important is that you keep doing it. For all the reasons mentioned above, and probably a few more. Such as, 'practice makes perfect', and you get better as you go along.

So why do you write? Got a reason to share? We've got space below.

And I hope nobody else pops their circuit breakers or falls downstairs this week.

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Dmitri Gheorgheni

18.07.16 Front Page

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