How To Rite Gud…

…and other useful tips from your uncle, Ambulance Driver.

It has come to my attention that some people consider me a good writer. While flattering, I’m not quite sure I believe it.

However, I use these compliments as fuel for my daily self-affirmation. Every morning after I scrape the crud from my face with a semi-sharp implement, I learn forward and look at the reflection in the mirror, and earnestly recite my mantra:

“You are special.”

“You are unique.”

You are warm, witty, talented, and uncommonly handsome, to boot.”

“And doggone it, people like you.”

Because, you know, my self-esteem needs all the help it can get.

It might interest you to know that, until ten years ago, I never really considered myself the possessor of any meaningful creative talents, save perhaps painting. I was a pretty talented artiste back in the day, to the tune of a boxful of medals and ribbons in juried art competitions. But it would seem that the sketching and painting part of me is dormant these days, and I now use writing as my creative outlet.

I’m not even the most talented writer in my family. That title belongs to my brother Terry, the poet of the family. I always fancied myself the technical writer – a talent that suited my analytical mind.

My brother and I were the weird ducks in our family. After Terry decided to go back to school in his mid-thirties, he embarked upon a quest to read the Webster’s Encyclopedia – he’d memorize twenty new words a day and try to use at least some of them in a conversation. Me, I had read all 26 volumes of the Encyclopedia Brittanica by the time I started kindergarten.

Yeah, you read that right. I am uber nerd. And by defying my kindergarten teacher, Miss Dickens, by reading Louis L’Amour novels at nap time, I upped my street cred immeasurably among the kindergarten chicks.

Because, you know, women love a bad boy.

But while I am on the subject of Louis L’Amour, if you read the inside cover of pretty much any of his novels, you will note that Louis did not consider himself a Writer with a capital “W.” Rather, he considered himself a troubadour, a storyteller in the oral tradition.

Good advice there, should you choose to follow it.

Just tell the story.

Write as if you were having a conversation with a trusted neighbor or close friend. Pay less attention to the conventions of writing, and more to serving the story.

Just write. Get the story on paper. You can edit and tweak later.

I never realized I had a talent for entertaining writing, but I’ve always been a good storyteller. Ten years or so ago, The Missus (along with a number of other people) encouraged me to go back to college and try to get into medical school.

I enrolled in my freshman year a solid ten years older than the rest of my classmates. I signed up for freshman composition because, quite honestly, I needed the easy A. On our first day in class, the professor had us write a “diagnostic essay,” which simply allows the professor to gauge the writing skills of the students. I got my essay back a few days later with the following words across the top:

God bless you, Susan LeJeune. You probably had a few thousand students over the years, but those two short sentences changed this one’s life.

I made it further into school with good grades, but calculus beat me by a split decision. Before I could schedule the rematch, life intervened. Paying the bills and raising a child became the priorities.

And then one day three years ago, I came home from a trip to discover my wife had left me for another man, and left little by way of explanation but a note on the table.

I’m not going to castigate the Ex-Missus for anything, because frankly, I bear my share of the responsibility. People have to nurture a relationship, and you can indeed let love die from neglect. I’m as guilty of that as she was.

But in the dark hours before I came to accept that, and in between attempts to crawl into a bottle and fantasizing of the grisly death of my rival, I had to earn a living. And without my loving support system, sitting in the right seat of that ambulance for twelve hours at a time threatened my sanity in ways I’m ashamed to admit.

So I wrote. It was my catharsis. I hauled out my laptop, and I started penning stories, mentally reliving calls I had run. I’d finish one story, and it would remind me of another. That story reminded me of yet another, and so on. If the details were a little fuzzy, so much the better – it makes obfuscating the confidential patient info that much easier. If the dialogue was a little fuzzy, all I had to do was remember the people who said them. If I couldn’t remember the exact words, I knew what they would say. Farting Partner, Effeminate Partner, and good old country boy Pardner all had their unique way of looking at things. You know a character well enough, you can envision what words will come out of their mouths. And know them well I did – they’re my brothers, all.

Along the way of writing the book, I learned a few lessons I’ll pass along:

1. Keep a journal. It need not be more than a few words to remind you of an idea for a story. My briefcase is full of little Post It Notes with little scribblings like “PCP Patient Rodeo” or “Spinal Immobilization for Fun and Profit,” or perhaps “Be sure to ask Doc what that weird rash is on my -“

Oops, sorry. That last one was a personal reminder.

The point is, inspiration comes at the strangest of times, often from the most unlikely of sources. If you don’t write those ideas down, they’re forever lost in the quicksands of memory.

2. The dialogue serves the story, not the other way around. Just tell the story, and don’t feel the need to relate every word verbatim. It’s a story, not a court transcript.

3. Trust your own voice. That was Susan LeJeune’s advice to me, and that’s my advice to you. Don’t try to sound like me. Try to sound like you. You’re probably more entertaining or insightful than you realize. If your writing resembles a rant more than thoughtful commentary, then recognize your strengths, and accentuate them. Let the vitriol flow. Own it, sister.

While proper grammar, spelling and syntax are important, you will find that the other conventions of writing are much more flexible. Sometimes flaunting those conventions serves the story, and more importantly, they’re your voice. I for instance, have never met a comma splice I didn’t like, and when it comes to dangling participles, I am John Holmes, baby.

Some bloggers ha
ve compared me to LawDog, even going so far as to suggest he ghost writes this one.

Heh.

If only I were that good. He’s my Blogdaddy, but I think the similarities in our styles lie in the fact that, at heart, we’re both storytellers with an eye for the absurd in everyday life. Everyone has their unique flavor – Marko has his logic and dry humor. Tam can draw blood with her wit – a Mona Lisa with a machine gun. Colt CCO has tickled me with a nifty turn of phrase. You can feel Holly’s love for Texas and her kids in her writing. Rocky Mountain Medic paints incredibly vivid pictures with his prose. Crystal is as profane as she is funny, and you just know that she realizes life is too important to take any of it seriously. Matt G has the same imposing physical presence as Bull Shannon, but you only need read his blog to see the gentle giant there – and a pretty damned perceptive one. Read Babs, and you get the feeling that every wrinkle and worry line has a story to tell, and that she wears them all proudly.

And no Babs, they don’t really show.

4. Decide who your audience is. If your blog is written purely for yourself, it doesn’t matter whether anyone reads it, does it? If you do have an audience, and you’re writing for their enjoyment, keep doing more of the same. Someone on the web found you, and they keep coming back because they like your voice.

So keep writing, and you know who you are. I’ll keep reading.