Terry Gross interviewed Ray
Bradbury on NPR several years back and I heard a replay of the broadcast after
his death last year. Gross commented on how Bradbury detested technology (he
didn’t use a computer, never owned a car). She asked him how a writer of his
caliber of science fiction could imagine the amazing worlds he did while
avoiding all forms of technology?
He responded, “It’s lack that gives us inspiration.”
This fascinating idea strikes me as opposite of ‘write what you know.’ Do those lacking in love write the best love stories, those lacking freedom the most compelling escapes, those lacking in stability the most emotionally-centered dramas, those lacking in mothers the most maternal stories, those lacking in health the most comprehensive wellness advice?
The idea of lack bringing inspiration goes for writing -- and reading too.
Earlier this week, lacking in joy and lacking in words to express what I was feeling, I spent the morning reading from a random stack of books at my bedside. I pulled a 1972 bright red anthology I’d picked up at the 4th of July book sale in Condon, Oregon, our annual trek to the desolate high-desert half of the state. Entitled “The Joy of Words,” it was filled with classic poetry and essays from writers of yore. I had scarcely noticed the “Joy” in the title until Ron commented on it, finding it particularly apt that I chose it to read.
There were essays by Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln, Benjamin Franklin, Carl Sandburg, Mark Twain, Will Rogers and Erma Bombeck along with poems like “Invictus” by William Ernest Henley and “The Way of the World” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox (Laugh and the world laughs with you, weep and you weep alone…). Of all the pieces in the book, the one I remember most was a sports essay by Ira and H. Allen Smith written about the Brooklyn Dodgers, pinpointing the details of one game in 1926. The Dodgers had bases loaded when Babe Herman hit a line drive, and in an unusual chain of events, three Dodgers found themselves on third base at the same time. Admittedly I’m no sports buff, but I didn’t recall ever hearing the anecdote and I got to thinking how historical tidbits are gone once they’re not repeated and how important it is to document the happenings of one’s life (even when no one is listening) or else they are lost forever. This story was the talk of Brooklyn at the time and Bennett Cerf, who I only remember from watching ‘What’s my Line’ as a kid, expanded on the story by sharing its repercussions throughout the city. Apparently, years later, a later-comer to a Dodger game was advised to hurry up by an enthusiastic fan in the stands. “You’re missing something big,” the caller yelled down. “The Dodgers have three men on base.”
“Yehr”” cried the fan. “Which base?”
He responded, “It’s lack that gives us inspiration.”
This fascinating idea strikes me as opposite of ‘write what you know.’ Do those lacking in love write the best love stories, those lacking freedom the most compelling escapes, those lacking in stability the most emotionally-centered dramas, those lacking in mothers the most maternal stories, those lacking in health the most comprehensive wellness advice?
The idea of lack bringing inspiration goes for writing -- and reading too.
Earlier this week, lacking in joy and lacking in words to express what I was feeling, I spent the morning reading from a random stack of books at my bedside. I pulled a 1972 bright red anthology I’d picked up at the 4th of July book sale in Condon, Oregon, our annual trek to the desolate high-desert half of the state. Entitled “The Joy of Words,” it was filled with classic poetry and essays from writers of yore. I had scarcely noticed the “Joy” in the title until Ron commented on it, finding it particularly apt that I chose it to read.
There were essays by Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln, Benjamin Franklin, Carl Sandburg, Mark Twain, Will Rogers and Erma Bombeck along with poems like “Invictus” by William Ernest Henley and “The Way of the World” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox (Laugh and the world laughs with you, weep and you weep alone…). Of all the pieces in the book, the one I remember most was a sports essay by Ira and H. Allen Smith written about the Brooklyn Dodgers, pinpointing the details of one game in 1926. The Dodgers had bases loaded when Babe Herman hit a line drive, and in an unusual chain of events, three Dodgers found themselves on third base at the same time. Admittedly I’m no sports buff, but I didn’t recall ever hearing the anecdote and I got to thinking how historical tidbits are gone once they’re not repeated and how important it is to document the happenings of one’s life (even when no one is listening) or else they are lost forever. This story was the talk of Brooklyn at the time and Bennett Cerf, who I only remember from watching ‘What’s my Line’ as a kid, expanded on the story by sharing its repercussions throughout the city. Apparently, years later, a later-comer to a Dodger game was advised to hurry up by an enthusiastic fan in the stands. “You’re missing something big,” the caller yelled down. “The Dodgers have three men on base.”
“Yehr”” cried the fan. “Which base?”
There are many ways to find
abundance and three men on third (however short-lived) could be one. In the
days ahead, I’m keeping any and all bases loaded with whatever brings me joy.
No comments:
Post a Comment