It just
struck me: I’ve been published for fifty years now. Good lord! How did that
ever happen?
I keep a
list of my published articles, not so much for ego or old-time’s sake as for
reference. Ask any author and you’ll
learn that it’s a whole lot easier to thumb through “the files” for THAT
article than to research the subject again.
There’s also the monetary factor—recycling articles doubles (or triples)
your productivity. My personal best is
three reprints for an article first published in 1977. One article, four checks. Love it.
Anyway,
recently I was looking at my articles list and noted the first entry:
1964
October. Drum Corps World. “Beaver State Beat.” $0.00
That was
the first of ten entries for DCW, as I was a 15-year-old percussionist in my
hometown’s American Legion drum and bugle corps. The Falcons had a lot of talent—one year at
the state championships we won 60 percent of the medals for individual
competition but finished near last in the corps field event. A year or so later one of our horn players
finished third at the nationals.
Because I
didn’t start flying until the next year, in ’64 drum corps and Scouts occupied
most of my time. I subscribed to DCW and
noted a dearth of coverage from the Pacific Northwest, so I contacted the
publisher, offering to fill in the gap.
His name was Joseph Something, and he readily accepted. No reason he shouldn’t since he wasn’t paying
anything!
The year
and a half of “Beaver State Beat” exposed me (corrupted, some might say) to The
Power of the Press. The column was part
news, part gossip, and part opinion.
Well, OK, a lot of opinion. But suddenly
a high-school freshman from Athena, Oregon, was considered Influential in the
esoteric world of Northwest drum and bugle corps. People started deferring to me. Some phoned with Insider Information, which
even at that callow age, I knew to treat with caution. Were the Cadets really dumping their music
director? Was the Eagles’ drum major
really ineligible because he’d passed his 20th birthday? People wanted to know such things.
I learned a
valuable lesson, writing for DCW: when in doubt, waffle. My columns contained useful phrases such as
“We hear that,” or “Reliable sources claim…”
Finally my
drum corps participation came to an end.
My last column was in May 1966, the last year I was active. By then I’d done about all I was going to
accomplish. I’d placed three times in
individual competition, winning state titles in tenor drum and rudimental bass,
and besides, I’d started flying in ’65 and finished my Eagle Scout badge that
year.
However,
the overall experience was a positive one, other than a severe crush on an
extremely cute blonde in the Seattle Thunderbirds color guard. Alas, geography worked against us. But I
gained some confidence as a writer, learned life lessons about competition, and
made some long-term friends. It’s been
fun catching up with a couple of them on Facebook.
Looking
farther down the list, I see that I’ve been published every year except 1967
and 1969. That’s understandable, because
I graduated from high school and started college in ’67, and worked summers on
the ranch and at the local airport. The
interim articles were published in Northwest
Flyer, the Journal of the American
Aviation Historical Society and the International
Plastic Modelers Quarterly.
I published
15 articles before I finally got paid for one, a magazine journalism class at
the University of Oregon. The deal was:
sell an article and you got an A.
“Omens, Augurs, and Jinxes” sold to Air
Progress in 1971—a whimsical study of aviation superstitions. The most memorable one dated from France in
the Great War. A pilot was considered
bulletproof if he carried a garter removed from the leg of a virgin in the dark
of the moon. Honest.
It was a
point of pride that I aced every writing class I took at OSU, the U of O, and
later in Mesa Community College’s screenwriting course. But a then-and-now comparison invites broad
contrast. I wrote my first six books and
about 100 articles on a Royal Standard manual typewriter that my father bought
before I was born. It’s still in the
family but most of the vowels are worn down.
When I was dragged into the computer age with a doorknob in each hand and
skid marks on the floor, I devoutly did not want to change. But it was clear that the publishing world
was inevitably headed over that cyber-cliff, so I adapted.
However,
the discipline I learned on that Royal served me extraordinarily well. So did the most valuable class I ever took:
freshman typing in high school. It was
held in the unheated basement of the Athena First Baptist Church at 8:00 a.m.,
an hour before the regular school day began.
I was oafishly proud to earn my 40 word-per-minute pin, a sort of
compensation for never getting a perfect attendance pin owing to childhood
asthma.
Far more
importantly, composing on a manual typing writer forced me to organize, to
focus, and to think ahead. After all, in
those days Cut And Paste involved scissors and Scotch tape, if not actual paste. So economizing on words and time paid
dividends.
Now I
realize that a PC’s cut and paste function has tempted me to become less
disciplined, even leaning toward laziness.
It’s easy to become profligate with words, since they’re only electrons
on a screen. Today writers can move
entire pages or even chapters around to suit their fancy, and what took hours
before can be done in minutes or less.
But
whenever I catch myself tending toward laziness, I can revert to the early
1960s, recalling the tiny thrill of seeing my byline and the satisfaction of
providing information and opinion to My Readers, however many they were.
That was
650 articles and 50 books ago, but moreover, it was FIFTY years ago.
How did
that ever happen?
50 years? Holly cow, you must have started when you were two. The only glaring hole I seen in your body of work is an essay on "The Chocolate Chip Cookie".
ReplyDeleteWay to go Pard.
James me lad: you're an inspiration. But obviously The Definitive Chocolate Chip Cookie Book will require lots more research....
DeleteGreat stuff. Some good advice for wannabees. Manual typewriters forever.
ReplyDeleteYA, Boom (who arrived late)
That's fershure Boom. No manual typewriter ever went BLEEP and lost 2 hours' work...and no cat ever alit on the keyboard hitting the Yes key to Delete File Without Saving!
Delete