Baboons Need Coffee Breaks Too

One part I liked about having two writing classes this last semester is that I got to have such a wide perspective of my field in such a short space of time. From craft to publishing, I experienced it all. In Brother Allen's 318 class I learned about the birth and creation of writing. In Brother Babcock's 418 I learned about the sweat and trouble of the publishing world.

By far the scariest day of last semester was when I had to read a piece out loud in 418. I've never read something of mine out loud before. My face quickly became hot and bothered and I lost my nerve half-way through the reading. Maybe it was because I knew that it was the most wonderfully ridiculous piece of nonsense I had ever written? When I was composing it I had thought it was the perfect opportunity to practice humor. What could be the harm? It was late at night, and the piece was due early the next morning. Why would he call on me the one time I didn't put my heart and soul into the work? He never called on me before and with twenty other people in the class I should have been fairly safe. Who would have guessed that my roommates choices between hamburgers and baboons would be put on public display?

(for those who don't know, sometimes creative blocks can be over-come by asking a second party to pick between two unlikely objects. They have to be physical, and you only need to ask as many combinations as you need to get juices flowing. Then you have the write the piece including the chosen objects. Once the work is done, you don't have to keep the object.)

The whole thing was a spoof on heroic journey stories. Basically I got to make fun of the chosen one (or my name for it) the fate weaver. Anyway, while trying to read this piece I could feel my face growing steadily hotter, my words became more shrill. I had written perfect crap and I knew it. It was supposed to be funny, but because I was so bothered I wasn't even aware if anyone was laughing. I found myself praying that the teachers timer would go off but no such luck. I was reading so quickly that I almost skipped over a simple typo.

fat weaver

The class busted their guts all over the floor. It was messy. I think some even shed a few tears. Then my teacher praised it because he said sometimes typos are the things that our make pieces brilliant. Especially if you're trying to capture humor.

Here's the strange part. My teacher only picked pieces to be read in class that he liked (aka thought was worth our time/liked the best.)

So why did he pick my ridiculous piece about baboons and Jimmy Johns employees? He put this question to the class and we were all puzzled. It was obviously not a piece of good literature. It was so bizarre and random and so unlike the serious deep pieces he'd chosen before. Why mine?

Students guessed "good culture references" or "good character voices" before he finally told us.

Sometimes, he said, he got so sick of reading the same kind of story over and over again that my humor piece was a much needed breath of fresh air. Not all good literature has to be about abusive fathers or dead babies and dogs. Not all of them have to be lyrical comments on the morality of mankind either. Some good literature is simply entertaining.

What saved my piece he said (because it did need a lot of work) was the movement. While deep pieces have their place they tend to be boring, slow, nothing really actually happens physically to the characters. While my piece managed to move from a sandwich shop too another dimension full of goblins, castles, and sacrificial alters, and back to reality with-in ten pages. Furthermore, it compelled him to keep reading because he wondered what happened next.

Normally, he said, he hated the fantasy stuff. To him it was blah. He did prefer real stories. Then he got this light in his eye. You know the kind people get sometimes when they're having a realization and they can't wait to share with someone even though they don't know how to say it until they've said it? That's the face he had.

He said that being a good writer was easy. You could please your typical audience that usually liked your style of work. It takes a great writer to create something that's enjoyable for someone who doesn't usually read that type of work.

Oh yes, I was happy. Being embarrassed was totally worth that kind of comment. I knew I had a decent grasp for action. But to be good enough to interest a teacher in something that even I consider a bad piece of fantasy? Awesome!