Since there was such a strong response to John's post about why we write, we thought it would be great to get another writer's perspective on that fundamental question.
And who better to throw in her two cents than The Writing Life veteran, Esther Cohen? Nobody, that's who. Take it away, Esther!
Today's post is in response to a question many of you have asked: Why write? I've been thinking about that a lot. It's something about the pen, and my notebooks. I love them both. Micro thin pens (I like Uniball and Pentel. But there are others. I am not pen exclusive. I've never had a Mont Blanc. And if I did, I'd probably lose it).
I've bought notebooks with my money as early as I could. The last few years I've gotten gray hard covers, at the Hallmark Store on Main Street in Catskill. $2.49. I'm in love with words, too. Indiscriminate, funny, loud and quiet words. Just words. I write on anything I can find if a notebook's not around: menus, Staples' cheapest copying paper. Once I wrote poems throughout my White Pages Phone Book, A to Z poems through the margins. I love the writing itself, words I know and words I don't and words I overhear and words I see and words I just imagine. I've been listening forever.
As a child, I'd sit on the stairs after bedtime, my ear to the heating grate. If what was said downstairs was even a little bit interesting, the speaker didn't matter, I'd write down the words. The subject often had the identical preface: Did You Hear. Did you hear that old Mrs. Steel was actually a witch? Did you hear that Cousin Tillie fell out of love with her husband Max? Did you hear that Anna Demosthenes, the principal of the grammar school, was in love with the school librarian? Love was most often the subject.
I began a handwritten newsletter, called Gab (Blab was my first choice for a title but my father said Gab was better, I believed him) where I wrote stories based on what I overheard. Some were neighborhood scoops, though I never thought of myself as a reporter because I loved making up the details. Joan M, anxious for Mr. Right, went on a blind date with Mary's cousin Ed. (Are there deaf dates? I have always wondered.) She wore earrings mad from feathers she found on her hedge. Ed said her earrings were objectionable. That was it for Joan and Ed, in the version I wrote back then, my own particular Ibsen tale. Joan walked away from Ed. In real life they married three months later. They never liked each other all that much, but that's a story we all know.
What about you? Why do you write? And where do you find your subjects?
Yours, Esther
Esther Cohen shares her writing life on the WEbook blog and teaches Good Stories at Manhattanville College. She’s the author of 5 books, including Book Doctor, Don’t Mind Me And Other Jewish Lies, and God is a Tree. Read more about Esther's Writing Life.
