Thursday, January 16, 1997
Beyond Blond Musings
from Frances Deck
I've always known there are certain kinds of people who are referred to
as merely eccentric, as opposed to crazy. The very rich for instance. I
never thought I would be one of them, but the other day I heard someone
describe me as the eccentric writer who does that Beyond Blonde column.
Apparently some people put writers into the eccentric category. That
makes perfect sense to when you think about it.
Who else but an eccentric would do what we do. We create feelings,
scenes, lives, events, and sometimes entire worlds from mere words. A
few make it to the best seller list and live comfortable lives from the
product of our imaginations. The majority of us have `real jobs' to pay
for creature comforts such as food and housing while we are doing what
we really love to do.
We put up with countless rejection slips, pannings by critics and muses
that are often mute when you need them most. But still we sit at our
typewriters or computers pounding out those words. Hoping we can put
them together in a way that will reach out and touch the audience we are
aiming for. And sometimes we are rewarded not necessarily with monetary
gain, but with something far more important.
One person's expression of how something you have written has effected
them. I once wrote an article dedicated to a friend of mine who had been
killed in an oil field accident. I was trying to express show I felt
about the fact that most people don't realize the danger that these men
who work in oil field face on a daily basis. When a person who was not
from the oil patch called me and told me that now whenever she pumped
her gas she thought about just what it cost to get that gas to the pump
I realized I had succeeded in what I set out to do. I made at least one
person stop and think about the true cost of that gallon of gas. That's
what drives us. Not the thought of hitting the best seller list. Not the
thought of fame. No it's that moment when you touch even one person that
drives us. Not the thought of hitting the best seller list. Not the
thought of fame. No ti's that moment when you touch even one person that
drives us. That's our real reward.
Every time someone tells me they read a column and enjoyed it I am
thrilled. The novelty of pleasing someone never wears off. Seeing my
name in the paper every week isn't what makes doing this worthwhile.
Hearing that I have touched something in someone is what makes it
worthwhile. That's my definition of what writing is really about.
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