Writing in Iowa

Writing — really engrossing writing — springs from a rich and cluttered life, fully lived. It is the bounty of experience that loads the canon of inspiration with sufficient shot to do memorable damage. But, can one glean adequate life experience from abiding among the ordered fields of Iowa? 

Many an old Iowa farmer may be found breathing contentedly from the rocker on his back porch as he ponders the meaning of life, the vicissitudes of our mortal coil, the might of Jove and the recalcitrant whims of His weather. On the other hand, many an old Iowa farmer has been found moldering in the rocker on his back porch as the crows make sport with his remains.

But, back to the point. A connoisseur will cleanse his pallet before undertaking to sample a new wine. He will savor it, let it rest in the bounty of his experience, form an interpretation, and commit his judgment to the enlightenment of others. One could not expect an impoverished lush to undertake such an intimate exposition. Likewise, critically acclaimed writers draw from the deep waters of their autobiographical wells. A dry well does not refresh. In Iowa, a shallow well, supplied by a groundwater aquifer, is likely to poison the family as they consume phosphates, organohalides, and fecal coliforms from the neighbor’s hog operation.

But, back to the point.

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Analysis of the Creative Process

from the book: Life Will Get You in the End:
Short stories by David Satterlee

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Life Will Get You in the End:
Short Stories by David Satterlee

A retired engineer comes to terms with typing his literary criticism papers himself. A creative student of literary analysis takes a break from writing yet another lame-ass paper to throw a private hissy-fit. 

Analysis of the Creative Process

I had a pen.

I learned my subject thoroughly across many years. I knew it well and could recite details and essential relationships at will; and often did so at salons with my peers. I ordered my thoughts and wrote cleanly, revising my first draft at least once.

My assistant had a typewriter.

I was knowledgeable in my field. After my first draft, she typed it up double spaced. I marked it up, inserting, deleting, drawing arrows, and making notes in the margin. She continued retyping drafts until I was satisfied with the result.

I had a word processor.

I knew my subject well enough. I launched in, doing additional research as I went. I inserted, deleted, and moved anything anytime until it was “right.” Each “draft” morphed continuously into the next. I nipped and tucked and, when it was done, I read it out loud to catch the final dumb stuff.

I had a turtle.

 He was a strange and wonderful creature. I took him apart to see how he was built. He was still strange but not so wonderful. I glued him back together but I did not like him anymore.

I have examined the great music.

Analysis shows that great music conforms to certain forms and obeys certain rules. I wrote some music. I conformed to the forms and obeyed the rules. It was not very good. I think that maybe the great composers broke rules.