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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 1994-02-02, Page 5THE CITIZEN, WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 2,1994. PAGE 5. Arthur Black Writing for a living is to whimper ruefully In America, only the successful writer is important. In France, all writers are important. In England, no writer is important. In Australia, you have to explain what a writer is. Geoffrey Cotterell And in Canada? What of the Great White Frozen Attic? What's it like to be a professional writer in Canada? Well, as a scribbler who's kept the bailiffs at bay for 20-odd years wielding nothing more lethal than a single-action Olivetti, I'd have to say Canadian writers fall somewhere between the American and Australian extremes. Which is to say that successful writers (Margaret Atwood, Robertson Davies, Alice Munro, Mordecai Richler) don't exactly have to take in laundry to make ends meet. On the other hand they can still pilot their own grocery cart down at the local supermarket without worrying about being mobbed by groupies in the frozen food section. People have a lot of misconceptions about the writing business. The biggest delusion is that writing for a living will make you rich. Not likely. If you envision a life of wallowing in megabucks in the back seat of International Scene By Raymond Canon The highs and lows Have you ever been asked what was the most exciting thing that you ever did, the most embarrassing moment, or the dumbest thing? If you have, come along with me as I take you along the path of a peripatetic journalist as he wanders around in search of a story. To take a little break from bringing you a diet of infinite wisdom, not to mention ultimate truth, I am going to relate a few moments in my life that I still vividly recall. My first editor liked to feed me topics and he suggested one day that since I was living in Switzerland, I might like to climb a mountain. I needed no urging; filled with the confidence of youth, I opted for the mountain that I could see from my bedroom (9,000 ft.). It didn't matter that I had never climbed a mountain before. I read a book on it and away I went. I planned on going up part way and spending the night on the easy side. I was up early the next morning. All by myself in total silence, it was strange feeling my emotions. The line of an English poet, (Blake, I think it was) came to me and I could relate totally to it. "I walked the other evening to the end of the heath and touched the sky with my finger." I have never forgotten that line nor the sentiment. I have never climbed another mountain and I have never again had the same feeling. I should add that my feelings must have transferred themselves to my story since my editor complimented me on it. The Iron Curtain now occupies a place in history but on the day that a friend of mine and I crossed it on our way to Moscow, it was very, very real. All of a sudden the woods of eastern Germany came to an end, a chauffeur-driven stretch limo, best you try some other line of work - like mugging or high seas piracy or criminal law. Most writers in Canada are lucky to keep their noses above the poverty line. Another major misconception about writing is that it is somehow easy, romantic and fun. It is to whimper ruefully. There's nothing fun or romantic about sitting down in front of a blank piece of paper or a vacant computer screen day after day. And easy? It only looks that way when it's done well. If you ever want to have your nose rearranged without benefit of plastic surgery, get yourself introduced to a writer and say "Yeah, but what do you REALLY do for a living?" A brain surgeon once cornered Margaret Laurence at a literary cocktail party and trumpeted. "So you're an author! That's great! You know, when I retire from medicine, I'm going to be an author!" Margaret Laurence looked at him through those hooded eyes, took a drag on her every- present cigarette and replied softly: "Fascinating. And when I retire I plan to take up brain surgery." Now, don't misunderstand me - I don't want to make writing sound like the root canal of career choices. It's not. The only real dangers in this line of work are nasty critics, unreasonable editors and the odd paper cut. Oh yes.. .and there is the ego problem. It doesn't happen often but once in a while your typical Canadian author will become rows of barbed wire and, overlooking the road, a watch tower on each side with searchlights and armed guards. We came to a halt at the barrier, showed our entry visas and for the better part of two hours we waited while they checked our car thoroughly, called to Prague to verify our visas and all the things that totalitarian states do to foreigners. Finally we were allowed to proceed with the strange feeling that we were leaving safety behind us. Being stopped at a road block didn't help and the only consolation that day was that it was the first of July and we ended up celebrating our national holiday at the Canadian Embassy in Prague. It helped, too, that the ambassador at the time was my old boss at External Affairs in Ottawa. It was a nice send-off to our weeks behind the Iron Curtain. In spite of the fascinating trip, we were delighted to cross it once again, this time into Finland. My loneliest feeling came when I had to spend the night at a small station on the Greek-Yugoslav border. To my surprise the train I was on southbound from Skoplje (in Macedonia) only went to the Greek border; there was no way to get across until the next day. I ended up sleeping in a bench at the station. It was lonely enough but it was one of the few times in my life when I was in a place whose language I could not speak. The night was long, I slept only fitfully and when dawn came, I managed to persuade a shunting engine to take me with them so that I could continue my trip. Even then I could not communicate when I got to Greece since the only Greek I had ever studied was of the classical variety. But at least I was on my way. For over 40 years I have been a part of the Foster Parents' Plan and one thing I will somewhat...full of himself. Put on airs. Act like he or she is actually important. Happened to me not long ago. I'd just published my fifth book and decided that, dammit, real writers don't go around in T- shirts, jeans and baseball caps. Chap in my position ought to look more...well, authorly. So I went out and bought a tweed jacket complete with side vents and suede elbow patches. I felt like Pierre Berton by way of Robertson Davies with a touch of Farley Mowat in my new threads. On an impulse, I sashayed into a bookstore, briskly rapped the bell and asked the startled clerk if they carried "That new book by Black." "Who?" the clerk asked blankly. "Black. Arthur Black. Clever fellow. Probably in your Canadiana section. Or perhaps under World Humour..." The clerk had never heard of him (me). And neither had his computer. "This is intolerable!" I blustered. "The man has written five books. Surely a bookstore this large would have at least one of them!" The clerk searched and searched. And finally, deep in the second hand racks, just beside the Remainders Bin he came up with one dog-eared, bookworm-riddled copy of my first book, Basic Black. My book had been filed, along with books by Dick Gregory, H. Rap Brown, a biography of Mohammed Ali and the collected speeches of Martin Luther King, under "Black Revolutionary Studies'. never forget was the time I decided to visit my first foster child, a little Italian girl who lived in Naples. I had seen poverty before but I was unprepared for what I found. The family lived, not in an apartment, but in a staircase. There were sheets hung over ropes to form rooms. The mother was obviously ill at ease with me; she wanted to offer me something but had nothing. She forgot that I spoke Italian and I heard her order one of the children to go to a neighbour's and borrow a bottle of beer. It came, lukewarm but wet, and I was touched by it all. We later took the little girl, Giovanna, for a ride in our car, a Mercedes. She had never been in a car before and got so excited that she got sick to her stomach. We bid a very tearful goodbye. I never saw her again but I often wonder what became of her. Seldom have I had a harder time writing an article than the one describing my visit. One of the greatest contrasts I have ever seen was the border between Finland and Russia when I came across. The Russian side was an armed camp and we were even escorted from their border post to the Finnish one a couple of kilometers down the road. When we got there, all we found was one border guard with one little gun. When we showed him our passports, his eyes lit up and he spoke to us in Canadian English. It turned out he had spent several years in Victoria B.C. where he perfected his English. What a pleasant surprise it was for us so far away from home. We had a nice conversation but then we had to hurry on. As the saying goes, it made our day! And so it goes. As I write this, more and more memories come flooding back but I think you get the gist by now that, in spite of all the countless hours waiting and travelling, life in the journalistic lane does have its moments. Thoughts on the ‘vast wasteland’ I've been hearing lately of some new television technology which promises not only over 100 channels from which viewers can choose, but the concept of 'virtual reality'. The latter, with the help of a Star Wars type helmet, lets you become part of your fantasy. According to a recent article in TV Guide, with virtual reality you can "put yourself at the wheel of a Porsche or hop into bed with the computer-generated man or woman of your dreams." While that certainly sparked some interesting musings, my first thought was "What wonderful little zombies we will become!" There is data which suggests that people are already spending too much time in front of their tellies and with the ability to play sports from your couch or create a computer generated image on the screen so you can shop for clothes without leaving your living room we may never actually need to interact with human beings again. Then I began to realize that it might not be so bad. With all the people who can't even figure out how to run their VCR, I would imagine there would be very few who will be able to program all the options anyway. We can let television control us or we can turn off the control. It basically comes down to excess; too much of anything isn’t good. What often gets overlooked about television is that it is a quiet way for family to be together. When you finally have the opportunity to spend some time at home, sometimes it's just a nice experience to sit down, turn on the set and turn off the mind. While other homegrown pastimes such as reading, cards or games can provide relaxing entertainment they do require a degree of thought. TV is, after all, a "vast wasteland". Or is it? I am, admittedly a bit of a couch potato. While I prefer to spend my time reading, it is obviously a solitary diversion. So, being as I am seldom 'home alone’ I will instead often find myself cocooned in front of the TV with hubby and kids when the long, weary day is coming to an end. This happened on Sunday. After a tiring Saturday of running, cleaning, cooking and entertaining we were all ready to just "vegge." The main program choice in our home is movies, either taped or on TMN, because quite frankly, commercials give me a rash. This day we opted for a mindless, innocent movie that was made with the primary objective of entertaining, not enlightening. However, while watching it became clear to me that there were many valuable lessons in this trivial epic. It made an example of judging people by their appearance and, my younger daughter pointed out, it illustrated the importance of being rich in character rather than in cash. It all kind of got me to thinking, something I had really planned on not doing much of. Maybe watching television needn’t be an inane pastime. Certainly there are more than enough shows that don't challenge the viewer in any way, but is it possible that we are overlooking some of the value in a few? For example, there is an unpretentious sitcom that has become a family favourite. The hero is a thoroughly likeable feisty female who is putting her life back together after walking away from an abusive marriage. I think she is a positive role model and we often discuss the charac­ teristics she displays. Even a mindless show can have some point if you take the time to talk about its flaws. I think anything that inspires discussion, can't be all bad.