Memories of a Course of Inspiration
Published May 12, 2006
I had no connections in the Middle West and no desire whatever to learn to talk Minnesotan or to involve myself with Midwestern culture. That day in the law school office and the bad feeling kept coming back to me. One day my former law school buddies, whom I had regaled with stories about New York, dropped by to say hello. I found myself doing the same thing in our apartment in St. Paul as I had done in the cafeteria in law school, and then the thought struck me. Why should I tell the stories for free?
So I sat down with a pen and paper and started putting to paper all sorts of things that had happened to me as a child in Brooklyn. The first thing I remember writing about was a snowball fight. But I felt I needed training of some kind, something to help me with a new and different craft. Well, it wasn't that new a craft. A good lawyer has to be able to write a convincing brief of his case, something that another lawyer — a judge would buy. Writing clearly and convincingly is a big part of good lawyering.
Nevertheless, writing stories is not exactly the same thing as writing a legal brief, so I enrolled in an evening course at a junior high on St. Paul's east side, a course on writing children's books. The teacher was a cigarette smoking lady from the south who insisted on using only the kindest terms in commenting on the works of the other students in the class. She went over the things that writers need to know about getting ideas on paper and conveying them to others as stories. Here, I was not reading the works of others; I was producing work for others to read. I was expected to bring something new each week. And I did.
I learned the difference between a vignette and a story, what point of view means and how to stay within it, and ideas about plotting. This course was taught before people had come out with computer programs to produce plots. It was like learning how to do a square root on paper or figure concepts in math with a slip stick instead of using a little calculator to do all the hard skull work.
We all enjoyed Emily Crofford's class so much that we signed up for a second course, and we were looking forward to a third, but apparently Emily was not going to be teaching at the school - for whatever reason. I suggested that we get together somewhere on a regular basis instead. She thought about it and the very next week she let us know that we were all invited to be members of her brand new writers' group that would meet twice monthly on Wednesdays at her home.
- Memories of a Course of Inspiration
- Published: May 12, 2006
- Type: Opinion
- Section: Culture
- Filed Under: Culture: Travel, Culture: History, Culture: Family and Relationships, Books: The Writing Life, Books: Children
- Writer: Ruvy
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Comments
I wish I had realized when I wrote the preceding comment that it was already after sundown on Friday in Israel. But I guess you'll get this comment at the same time as that, so: Shabbat Shalom.
What a wonderful story Ruvy. I love to hear how people began to do what they do, the tales of that initial spark of inspiration.
I hope you are still writing your stories.
Shavua Tov,
Thank you Mike and Chantal for the kind words. I still write, though time has made a mockery of some of my previous ideas and threatens to do the same with some of what I'm working on now.
I learned more than just writing in Emily's sunroom. Gentility, civility, politeness, traits we badly need, were always present in her sunroom. It is hard to encourage a writer without them.
Impressive piece of work, Ruvy. I hope you never forget the gifts Ms Emily bestowed upon you.
Thank you for the kind words, Chris.
I try not to forget. Sometimes it gets hard...
Thanks for the kind words about my mom.
My dear Mr. Crofford,
Your mother earned every syllable of what I wrote. She taught me that writing is a craft, and a hard craft, and that the good writer is a good craftsman, like a carpenter who knows precisely how to plane a piece of lumber to get it to the proper smoothness. She taught that a good craftsman takes pride in his work, and insists, like Abel did in the Bible, on bringing only his best fruits to the sacrifice.
She taught something else as well, something that is harder to remember for a person who does not suffer fools easily. Your mother taught civility and kindness. She taught that every writer, in presenting his work to the public, is presenting a part of himself, and deserves to be treated with respect for having made the effort, even if that work is not particularly good.
I try to remember this in my criticisms - I admit I do not always succeed.
I'm sure you read your mom's stories to your kids, and to other kids as well, so I needn't mention that to you. But think on what I've written above. This is your mother's true legacy, the one that goes beyond the stories she wrote; the legacy of a woman who taught a craft, a hard craft, and who taught others to respect the work of a craftsman, and seek for the best when inspecting that work. These concepts apply, not merely to writing or carpentry - they apply all across the board.
Teach this to your children, and to your children's children, and the children of your children's children, if G-d gives you to see them, and your mother will smile with delight upon you from the heavens.
Have a blessed Sunday,
Reuven - who used to be known as Ron




Beautifully written, Ruvy. As usual.