It’s funny how things come into your life sometimes. And by your life, I mean mine. For instance: Anne Lamott. For the truly dedicated PatDoesWords readers (you know who you are), you may recall that I mentioned Anne in a post earlier this month, January 5^th to be exact. The post was a tongue-in-cheek tutorial on how to be a successful writer. I included links to real writers’ thoughts on the subject because mine are dubious at best. Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird and Stephen King’s On Writing are arguably the two most widely praised and preached books on writing, so I used those. 

The irony in my referencing those books is that I have read neither of them. I was simply giving my readers an out if they needed one, an escape hatch to the writings of people smarter than I. However, both books are on my list to acquire and consume, a list which is insurmountably long. 

Fast forward to a few days after I published that essay and I realized I needed to catch up on my friend’s blog. Vickie is a dear friend, a great writer, and someone who is truly in the trenches. She’s an anomaly, one of those bizarre people who actually writes and doesn’t just talk about writing. When I’m not busy hating her for that, I sit in admiration of it. 

My backlog of her blog posts started with Resolve which she published on January 1^st. I get to a line that makes me shriek with joy. Vickie mentions Bird by Bird! She was in the middle of reading it and referenced a specific bit of writerly advice. Again, Vickie is an anomaly, one of those bizarre people who actually reads and doesn’t just talk about reading. It all felt oddly serendipitous. I unwittingly mentioned Lamott’s book in my blog a few days after Vickie mentioned it in hers. Clearly, I needed this book. 

Fast forward another few days and Vickie and I do our holiday gift exchange. In typical fashion we intended to do it before Christmas, but life got in the way. A mid-January gift exchange was probably more on-brand for us anyway. While sitting at Vic’s dining table, I found myself, once again, letting out a shriek of joy as I unwrap a copy of Bird by Bird. We hadn’t talked about her blog post, my blog post, Anne Lamott, or the book. It became clear that this book intended to find me, one way or another. 

A cancelled flight last Friday meant I ferociously dove into the book. Currently I’m about 10 pages away from finishing it. I suppose my subconscious wants to savor the experience. But I see why the universe wanted me to have this book. There are so many great insights and takeaways. Lamott has a humorous, gentle, but hyper-realistic view of the craft. She understands the anxiety and pitfalls, the joys and discoveries.

One of my favorite pieces of advice she has is to think of yourself, the writer, as a typist. It may sound a little ethereal or ‘out there’ but roll with me. She says the job of the writer is to sit down and type whatever comes through. If you want to think of it as messages from muses or God or Mother Nature, cool. If you want to think of it as your own observations or memories or subconscious ramblings, cool. In either case, the writer sits down and records. That’s it. Your first draft is nothing more than a stenographer writing down what he hears. 

This is such a freeing outlook. If my duty is to simply record what’s already there, then I don’t have to be the guy generating material. That can be someone/something else’s job. The pressure is off. My only job then is to be open. Be open and record. It’s the lazy man’s view of writing, and that resonates strongly with me. Most lazy man things do. 

The nuts and bolts of the book apply to fiction writing. However, the more I sit with it, the more I realize there are applications for the kind of writing I do. Lamott goes into great depth on how to develop good dialogue and find 3-dimensional characters. While I’m not a novelist, I realize these things are useful to my essay work. Any time I write about real people in my life and the words they use, I’m presenting the reader with characters and with dialogue. 

She talks a great deal about world creation. It’s imperative to immerse yourself into the world you’re building. The physical elements of the space must be fleshy, tangible, graphic, and sensual, meaning the reader should feel the space with all their senses. When a reader dives into another world, they should be able to close their eyes and feel as though they are truly standing in the middle of it. Whether it’s the ballroom of an 18^thcentury Russian aristocrat, a depressed Oxford University professor’s study, or a millennial’s shabby-chic Brooklyn apartment, the description should be dripping with tactile detail. 

I suck at this. 

In fact I would argue that physical description is one of my weakest points as a writer, though there are lots to choose from. The best I’ve ever done, in my opinion, were my blogs about Italy. To my credit, Italy is naturally dripping with tactile sensations, so it isn’t too hard to do. Nevertheless, I look back at those pieces and think, “Did I really capture how high the vaulted ceilings were in that Florentine apartment? Does everyone understand just how goopy the gnocchi was? Could my reader see The David before them, the way that I saw him?”

In my defense, I think being an actor has stunted my ability to do this. When I step on stage or onto a set, the world – the physical one I pretend to inhabit – has been created for me. Set designers, painters, production designers, props masters, directors, lighting designers, and technical directors have spent weeks or months generating a space for my lazy ass to plop down on. I don’t have to image a wealthy person’s New England suburban foyer from 1985 if someone has already built me their version of it. Of course, I have to fill in some gaps – ignore that lighting equipment, pretend there’s a wall there, ignore that audience, etc – but otherwise a world has been handed to me.

Film is even more crippling in this regard because I’ll probably be working in the actual space. If the script specifies that I’m in a classroom, or coffee shop, or Walmart, then chances are good that I’ll be standing in a real classroom or coffee shop or Walmart when I get to set. 

So just for fun, as a little exercise, I’d like to describe the kitchen floor of my childhood home in St. Louis. I want to make it as visceral and concrete as I can. I want to feel like I could hand this off to a painter and have them accurately recreate it. Here goes…

“The thing about lava is that you really shouldn’t step on it. You will burn your feet up and die. That’s right. Die. Land is the only safe way to avoid lava. 1. 2. 3. You hop gingerly from land tile to land tile as you make your way to the fridge – the Holy Grail of entertainment for a lonely kid with a carb addiction. Take a quick break against the wall. 4. 5. 6. A few more hops. You must avoid the lava. 

The long strip of jet-black tar separating the hallway from the main kitchen isn’t an ideal stepping location, but, in a pinch, it’ll do. Let’s say there’s a party, maybe your family’s annual St. Patty’s Day party. Everyone is crowded in the kitchen, as grown-ups tend to do. There are lots of bodies everywhere. If you can’t immediately get to a land tile because your neighbor Sandy or Shannon Minnar or Carol is in the way, you can use the tar. While it’s inadvisable to stay there long, it’s better than lava. 

7. 8. 9. It’s the dead of a Midwestern winter and that linoleum is icy to unsocked feet. The temptation will be to step on lava because, theoretically, it’s warmer than land. Do not fall prey to this thinking. If you really need to warm up those toes, make your way to the tar few a few seconds. 

As you take on that hero’s journey through the kitchen, your dad brazenly walks by, stepping on all manner of land and lava and tar. How can anyone look at a checkerboard floor like that and not try to avoid the lava? Your older sister, whose 3 years of seniority makes her confident in all things, insists that it’s fire and not lava. You know better though. If it were fire, it’d be much brighter and redder. These are a dull, deep crimson, with little flecks of white sprinkled throughout. Clearly it’s molten earth. Clearly it’s lava. 

10. 11. 12! Victory! You’ve made it to the fridge! Your afternoon dose of solace and friendship awaits. That treacherous journey was worth it. You should enjoy it now. In a few years your feet will be too big for the land tiles. It will be a difficult moment of discovery. The lava tiles are bigger, so you try inverting the game – stepping only on lava and avoiding land, like some kind of molten reptile. This doesn’t feel right. You exhaust your creativity to the point of attempting a cartwheel as a means of transportation but that only ends in disaster and a nearly broken foot. Yes, now is the time to enjoy perilous tribulations such as lava and kitchen floors, childhood homes, and youth. For one day, you will be too big for them.”

Check out this week’s photo contributors:

Gustavo Juliette

Ben Klea

p.s. shoutout to my mom for having that random picture of our St. Louis kitchen!

p.p.s. upon reading my description, I’m not sure I actually “described” the floor…oh well