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Hey <<First Name>>
 I made it to the Moth StorySLAM in Ann Arbor two weeks ago and got called to tell a story. The theme was DRIVE. All the other storytellers talked about driving a car, but I talked about my drive to become a writer.
Here is the story I told, which is basically my origin story for becoming a writer.
In 8th grade, Mrs. Recht had us write a book report. I enjoyed reading back then and so this was homework I didn't mind.
But my friend, Mark, who sat next to me, hated it. Hated reading.
When she handed back our graded reports, she had harsh words for Mark.
"I'm disappointed, Mark," she said. "It's like you don't care at all about your writing."
"I don't care," Mark said. "I'm not going to be a writer."
Mrs. Recht chuckled. "Oh, you'll never be a writer." Then she pointed at me, sitting right next to Mark. "Mickey could be a writer some day. But you, oh no. You will never be a writer."
And there it was, a seed planted. I could be a writer some day.
It stuck with me because I really liked to read. Why not be like one of these people I admire, and tell stories and create books and shit? You know?
But I was still a stupid, self-defeating idiot-eighth grader, even to Mrs. Recht. We had a group assignment and, trying to be funny, I referred to Mrs. Recht as Mrs. Rectum, and one of the students ratted me out, and I was kicked out of her class for two weeks.
In spite of my stupidity -- or maybe because of it -- that idea of becoming a writer stuck with me.
When I went to college, I wanted to study literature and become a writer. I didn’t know how someone did such a thing. Math was easy for me so I studied engineering. After the first semester, I was miserable and wanted to quit. I told my father I wanted to be a writer.
He came down hard on that idea. Writing is a hobby. You need a real skill, or a trade. You can write in your spare time.
Stupidly, I let him talk me into staying in engineering.
Still, Mrs. Recht’s backhanded compliment stayed with me, I tried to find a way out of it by entering the writing contest at school. I don’t think they had a lot of entries from the college of engineering, but I hoped I’d be discovered and then I could be a writer.
I didn’t win, and I was devastated. I thought I was a natural, and couldn’t understand how they didn’t recognise my talent. So I took my entry, a short story about a talking rat, to the one English professor I knew from the general studies credit I was able to take in engineering. Robert Weeks was very gentle with me, and told me writing a good story is very difficult, and that I’d have to work at it for years. He gave me two books to read and sent me on my way.
Mrs. Recht’s prophecy stayed with me though, and for thirty-seven years, now, I’ve been writing in my spare time. I’ve self-published a couple of books, mostly to find a way to quit those projects. I take classes, read blogs, enter contests, and write every day.
My only talent, I realize, is persistence with a dash of unearned confidence thrown in. 37 years I've stayed with it, and each time I start a new story, screenplay, or book I think: this will be the one that gets me discovered. But readers are fickle, publishers are wary, and sometimes great stories are ignored.
I fear that I’ll die soon without fulfilling Mrs. Recht’s prophecy.
When that time comes, and St. Peter takes me to meet God for my final judgment, God will ask, “What did this one do with his life?”
St. Peter will look in the book of life and say, “He held a few jobs, raised a family, but spent the most time writing stories that no one bothered to read. It seems he wasted his entire life trying to fulfill the prophecy of an eighth grade English teacher whose name is, uh...”
“Recht?” God will offer.
I’ll shake my head. “Rectum.”
“Wrecked him?” St. Peter will exclaim. “I'd say she killed him.”
I didn't win but I got a decent laugh at the end. With a story like that, I really think it's the best I can hope for.
If you're interested in my writing, I've made good progress on the design of two long form stories I'll be telling. The thriller I'm writing is the tough one. Telling a good thriller is like getting away with murder. You have to plan everything just right and then be ruthless in the execution of the plan.
Stay tuned. I'm working hard to make this a big year for my writing.
--mickey
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