Professor
Hamilton stood before his last class of the semester.
Hamilton
himself was moderately successful as a writer. While a professor he’d
slowed down his production, but wrote three novels in the last ten
years and a nonfiction work on writing.
Professor
Hamilton smiled at his class. “Fifty-two students this semester,
some serious, some not, most who are serious show promise. And those
who don’t show promise, don’t give up. If you don’t give up,
you will likely succeed where those who show the most promise fail?”
“This
is the last day of class,” Hamilton said. “What is it you want to
hear? Any questions?”
“How
long did you write before you published your first novel?”
Hamilton
grinned. “Forever, or so it seemed. I wrote for ten years. Finally
I wrote something good. Then I wrote a couple of things good. And
then I was able to sell all my bad stuff.” He chuckled. “Somebody
had to pay for all those years. I had people to pay back.”
The
class laughed.
“Another
question,” Hamilton said delighting at the opportunity.
“What
was the best writing advice you ever received?”
“It
was all good,” Hamilton said seriously. “Of course, you can’t
use all of it, because some of it is conflicting. So here it is: find
your own voice, write your own story, write it honestly, if not sure
about grammar make it a quote, bad spelling justifies the existence
of proofreaders and nowadays we have spell-checks, and don’t try
to be fancy; write simple.”
“Another
question,” Hamilton beckoned.
“How
much do you take the advice of editors?”
“Listen
to them,” Hamilton said. “Then listen to yourself. You are the
author. That word eventually becomes an authority. Think of it this way;
if you write 500 pages and edit it yourself to 400, the editor will
edit it down to 300. If you started with 300 they will whittle it
down to 200. If you hand them something less than 200 they’ll say
that’s not enough. Write your best. Keep a little in there for the
editor to feel good about himself, but if you are sure of something
stick to your guns. Remember, editors are jealous of your ideas.”
“Any
more questions,” Hamilton said.
That
seemed to be all the class had.
“Write
good stuff,” Hamilton said. He waved and winked.
The
class stood and applauded.
Hamilton
stopped and held his hands up to quiet the students.
“There’s
one more thing,” Hamilton said. “Some of you will write and sell.
Likely my words will go unheeded. Careful what you write. Your
writing may awaken demons in people or make goodness arise. When I
was young my mother had me read nothing but good. That’s why I
always tell my students to write good stuff. Don’t allow your minds
to wander into the perverse and call it creativity. Write a story
that is good rather than one that will titillate. Write about virtue,
character, principle, and goodness. Your work influences people. If
you have that special gift to write well, write about good stuff.”
Hamilton
nodded politely and exited the side door.
