Everyday Life Fuels the Writer's Fire

It's amazing how life provides material with which to work.

I was thinking this very thought this morning as I drove my son to the doctor's office with a broken finger. It certainly was not how I had planned to spend my morning, but life with children usually involves a certain amount of upheaval. As I drove, thinking these thoughts, I was reminded of one of my college professors who claimed that life was boring -- too boring to write about. He believed adamantly that writers had to completely invent their material.

I balked at this even at the age of 21. I was a journalism major, and believed that it was up to the writer to inspire the reader to read, no matter what the topic. To make matters worse, I had registered for creative writing, not fiction writing. It so happened, this professor taught both creative writing and fiction writing. Since he saw no difference between the two courses (despite the university's course catalogue), he saw no reason to teach them differently.

Instead of exploring different writing styles that I could incorporate into my own writing, I was treated to his coffee house fiction readings and ... I really can't remember anything else he said. I don't recall his face or his name, but he always wore black, left his hair slightly longish and feathered, and wore glasses. He was oh so trendy -- very 80s.

I spent the semester trying to prove him wrong. I did not register for fiction writing, so I refused to write fiction. I used my personal experiences and adapted them to whatever assignment this professor (for want of a better word) doled out. (It is not that I dislike fiction. I love to read it, and maybe one day I will decide to write it. I just resented the implication that fiction writing was the only writing.)

He didn't like anything I wrote. I guess that made us even. I wasn't looking for a pat on the back; I was looking for a means to improve my writing, and I didn't get it from him.

I did learn to hold on to my convictions. I was not going to change this professor's mind, but that wasn't the point. I don't think I ever even voiced my opinion in class (although I did address the issue in my course evaluation). My rebellion was an introverted one. I said that I wanted to prove him wrong, but I really wanted to prove something to myself.

I still rail at the inanity of this man's comments because all good literature -- fiction or otherwise -- is based on the human condition, which is based on real life. Even fantasies that are largely imaginative works, employ personification and other literary devices that help the reader relate to the character or place or whatever. I find that I am drawn to descriptions of a condition or a place or a person whether I am reading or writing because they are the backbone of life and art.

We will never be able to count the billions and trillions of words that have been put to paper over the centuries. Many of those words are lost to history. Those that were saved were saved for a reason: They all share some universal theme, something that makes us want to read them again and again.

I believe that those universal themes are more likely to lie in our own backyards than in any distant world.

The author is a freelance writer, a teacher, and the mother of three boys. Her website, The Writing Tutor, provides writing tips and writing guides, as well as lesson plans and writing assignments.