My first memory of what I wanted to be when I grew up was a writer. Back then I used the word, "author" - somehow this word stuck in my mind. A writer.... well, that could be anything.
I read at an early age and I read a lot. My parents and siblings both tell stories of me forever having a book in my hand. I also was known to pore over the family set of encyclopedias for hours - having them splayed out on the floor, one article jumping me to another (my favorite section was "See Also").
Okay. I was a bit weird. But it made me fairly good at trivial pursuit. Interestingly, my son does the same thing now - except he has a little thing called the internet to help him along. I had the Weyburn, Sask. library and my stack of World Books. Old school, dude. (For some reason, this is one of the few things that impresses him).
I digress. Often.
But this thought of being an author was a bit like those kids that wanted to be fireman, or doctors, or astronauts (though, some of them might have became just that). The desire drifted away as I grew up and was replaced with another: art. Here in the story, you might think that I'd say teaching, or carpentry, or social work, or some sort of semi-normal job. But I have never been semi-anything. So I followed the art career thing, and continue to follow it. But along the way, a few decades later actually, that childhood desire returned. And I know why.
I was still the guy with a book in his hand - everywhere and anytime. Though, my choice of reading material began to change after art school. I started reading that literary stuff. I grew up on a steady stream of sci-fi, fantasy, heavy on the action/comedy/weirdness factors (and if all three were combined - even better). In my academic electives in college I took some literature courses, along with one creative writing course, which I barely recall. But I do remember the lit classes. They introduced me to Vonnegut (instant obsession). And John Gardner (later obsession). The switch wasn't right away, but I really found there were books that I just couldn't read anymore - the badly written ones. I clearly remember reading Marathon Man - and going, "this is really shitty writing". Huh? Where the hell did that thought come from? Then I'd pick up another Vonnegut, and another.
Where I am leading to is the books the ignited that childhood dream - I still remember clearly which ones lit the fire.
Catcher in the Rye
I read this when I was 25. Kind of late compared to some other angry young men - and just to add, I wasn't an angry young man, nor am I an angry middle-aged man. But I was simply amazed by the writing, and the character. I was reading it on the subway, coming home from my studio in downtown Toronto. And I thought, Hey. I want to be a writer. Where did that thought come from?
100 Years of Solitude
Right around the same era - a studio mate lent me his paperback copy of Marquez's book. I'd never read anything like it. It was magical, dreamy, totally engrossing - I recall reading it to my wife, pregnant with one of our kids - she wondered what the hell I was going on about. It was kind of weird and every character had the same name. For me, I didn't think I could ever write such a book (and still think so) - but again, this desire to write, to create magic on the page came back.
Smoke
This was some years later - and not a book, but a movie version of a book. I had no idea who Paul Auster was. But I came home from watching this beautful little film, with William Hurt playing the writer and Harvey Keitel speaking aloud what I found out later was "Auggie Wren's Christmas" story, and I knew - I had to start writing.
Rock Springs
This came along after I started writing - so it wasn't the one that lit the fire. But it keeps it burning. Everytime I think of the kind of story I want to write, I think back to Ford's book and how much I would love to create something like "Communist". I have read it many times, underlined things, deconstructed it, and loved it to pieces. It confirmed for me that not only do I want to write, I need to.
This posting came out of a desire to reinvigorate that desire. Please comment on the books (or films, music, copy on cereal boxes or anything...) that made you want to write.
Friday, March 5, 2010 at 12:01PM 
