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Gray Matter
Some Pens Truly Are Mighty
Inside classroom 106 at our local Center for Lifelong Learning I am witness to the fact the written word is bringing 12 strangers close. Moreover, the words that are bonding these senior women and men are not mine; they are theirs, set down in stories that, in fact, are life reviews.
As volunteer professor, or class leader, I believe you can only teach nonfiction writing but making people write. So, each class I assign my ‘writers’ a 500-word essay as homework.
Again and again, I preach: “There are all kinds of writers and an equal number of approaches. Any method that helps people say what they mean to say is the right method for them.”
I read some of their works in class, and critique all pieces in writing. Lastly, a number of attendees opt out of the actual writing. They listen and, hopefully, learn.
Seated before me each Thursday, among others, is a thoracic surgeon, a pediatrician, a geriatric psychiatrist, and a virologist who
discovered a herpes virus. This doctor frequently is heard lamenting the profound neglect shown legions of African children who seem doomed to die from AIDS.
Assigned to produce meaningful dialogue, our resident virologist turned in an exercise joining Aristotle, Charles Darwin and Albert Einstein. He wrote they argued during the imaginary dinner, yet because they shared “the ecstasy of discovery” then rallied to toast Science (cap S): “the best means to uncover the mysteries of our universe…” and lead toward “the betterment of all mankind.”
A recent class assignment was humor writing and the No. 1 talent turned in what I termed “a gem.” Titled “Car Memories,” here is Ms. Helen Harvey’s lead:
“Cars in my life have been like foster children, temporary members of our family, and each bearing the scars of a former life. They share our fortunes for a time and move on…some are remembered with affection, others proved certifiable nightmares.”
At one juncture, Harvey, her scientist husband, their three daughters (then ages 4, 5, and 6), two cats named Inky and Calico, plus two guinea pigs set out in their pea green Nash Rambler to motor from Ithaca, N.Y., to Columbia, MO., in late summer. The temperature was in the 90’s much of the route.
“These were the days before seat belts, before air conditioning, and, as it turned out, before common sense,” writes Harvey. For the next 650 words, she describes the star-crossed journey, featuring “Inky and Calico roaming free, trailing leashes and shedding hair. To prevent them from leaping from the car, windows were only opened a crack. Soon the air was thick with floating hair—short black hairs and long white and yellow hairs stuck to our sweaty bodies, and of course they made us itch.”
Next, things turned really bad! Calico suffered “stress-induced diarrhea, and trailing her malodorous tail began a trek up over the girls’ shoulders and behind their heads…The odor wafted forward and sideways.” Harvey’s husband, livid and out of patience, suddenly turned off the highway to impulsively hurl “the offending litter box across a wide ditch.”
“What was he thinking?” Harvey asks. “The longest part of our three-day trip was still ahead of us.” With no litter box!
In summary, Harvey traces the history of her interesting life through nine cars (ranging in price from $100-$26,000) and spanning 33 years of marriage, producing “three extraordinary daughters,” with residence in five states plus five uncommon years in Hiroshima, Japan. And, I must now add: yes, with an additional eight weeks producing prose that would gladden the heart of any knowledgeable editor.
Stories, explains therapist Mary Pipher, “have kept us humans sane during long, dark seasons for many generations.” Another place, she writes: “For me writing is the best therapy. I don’t know how people who don’t write survive.”
Our class at Emory University knows this to be accurate and true.
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Outrageous Associations
