Word After Word

“I am so sick of this town. I can’t write in this town,” D. said. D.’s super smart, a senior this year, and she’s really sick of our town, which is small, but not that small–there’s three Blockbusters and three big grocery stores and three lakes and a shop that sells only cigars. This town thing. It’s hard to explain. But it’s not the town we get sick of.  You can’t be in the wrong town. When it comes to writing, if you are living a life where your basic needs are met–you aren’t in fear or illness or despair–you are in exactly the right spot. The perfect spot.  The stuff you need to know, to look at, is before you, around you, you are in it. Don’t move away. Move towards yourself.

It is true that when we are around funny people, we get funnier, and when we are around smart people, we speak in longer sentences, just as when I play tennis with Tracy, who is great, my game is better than when I play with someone who never ever plays, who hates tennis.  So, I can see moving to a lively literary town.  We all want a tribe. People who are doing what we are doing, who value our books and notions and clever comments and tea. But I wish D. had other reasons. I wish she loved here, where she is.  I’m worried about her because I think writers–young writers especially–must practice noticing everything with accuracy and moving–fast, feary, full-frontal–might closing one’s eyes. (Plus, it’s annoying when people think your own town is a dumb town.) There’s plenty to write about here. There’s more than enough. There are so many stories and couches and computers and there are some places to read and sell and buy art and work in progress.

I don’t think it’s the town. I think it’s our own psyche. I think we’re looking for a better, brighter, more shiny, more cool self and we mistake geography for hard work. (I did this.) I think if we find a way to groove on the whole town–its provincial mores, its gawky frowning citizens, its quiet Sunday self, its fear of success–we enlarge ourselves. And our writing is richer for it.  I might be dull. And this is perhaps why I do not mind a dull town. I don’t really believe a place is a “thing.” It’s alive. It’s always moving. I can spend the day at OK Tires and feel like I’m in a Larry Brown novel. 

Mid age. Mid west. I don’t think I can handle more drama.