Like many, my relationship with writing is a complex blend of love and frustration. When inspiration strikes, and time permits, I find that I can write quite well. Yet, those moments are rare, fleeting, and all the more precious for it. There were times when the words flowed effortlessly, and those instances were nothing short of glorious.
Writing is an intriguing endeavor, especially when one embraces the title of “writer.” For a period, I considered myself one. My experience in academic writing, authoring grants, contributing to peer-reviewed works, and holding patents, has shaped my understanding of what it means to be a writer. However, the general perception of a writer often leans towards the creative, the fictional, rather than the technical or academic. It’s an unfair distinction, but one that persists.
My journey into writing began during my undergraduate years in Bloomington, Indiana, at Indiana University. I discovered a local weekly newspaper, The Ryder, which was a unique blend of entertainment guide, trendsetter, and a platform for intriguing writing. It offered real investigative journalism, poetry, and occasionally, noir detective stories. I had the pleasure of writing some of those stories, and it was one of the most enjoyable experiences of my life. My Nick Dickerson stories were published, and the experience was transformative. It was a love affair with words that only other writers could truly understand.
My publisher, Peter LoPilato, hired me one summer day after a night at the Bluebird, the main music bar in town. He handed me Daniel Boorstin’s “The Discoverers,” a book that remains a favorite to this day, and instructed me to read a hundred pages. Our subsequent discussions led to my first assignment. I initially thought I would be covering local music, so I reviewed an upcoming show. To my delight, he liked it.
When I inquired about payment, he handed me a dollar and the book, saying, “You’re professional now, everything else is about negotiating a rate, and you wanna do that upfront.” It was a lesson, among many, that I will never forget. It was, in a word, glorious.