Chapter Four - Writing Between the Blanks
I met Emilie in sewing. First class of Thomas Starr King Junior High. Seventh grade. First period. First day.
She was cute. She found out I liked her. She threatened me with a seam ripper. She didn’t talk to me for several months.
I came to find out there was actually bad blood between us.
In fifth grade, at the Young Authors’ Conference, my book won for “Outstanding Achievement - 5th Grade”, and Emilie got an Honorable Mention. True! Her mom snapped a photo of her in line scowling at me for beating her.
We hadn’t met yet. One of my award-winning poems:
“Rain”
The patter of rain
Tickles the April flowers
Yet, they never laugh.
I don’t want to hear it. I was 11.
My haiku was accompanied by an original piece of music.
Here’s the thing about Emilie. She’s super intelligent, highly creative, and the only person I’ve ever met who is a bigger procrastinator than me.
She is probably an even better example than I am of why procrastination is important in creativity.
In eighth grade, I wrote an awesome book called Musical Mysteries fashioned off of Encyclopedia Brown. Except my young detective, Michael Youngstrom, only took musical cases. For example, when a burglary suspect with long fingernails claimed to have been playing the violin in a concert an hour ago, she was obviously guilty.
The night before our books were due, I stopped over at Emilie’s house after finishing mine, only to see her and her mom frantically racing around the house like maniacs trying to figure out what else Emilie needed to accomplish to meet the entry deadline.
Em was in the middle of painting (yes, she was a great painter) and writing poetry (yes, her poems were deep and certainly far better than “Rain”) to accompany each picture. Her page count was low, and to fill space — Wait, how about I just reprint her poem and watercolor so you can see her “brilliance”?
SHE WON MOST PROMISING AUTHOR OF THE YEAR!!! FOR TURNING IN A BLANK PIECE OF PAPER!!!!!!!!!
There might have been another one, “Blackness” that was solid black. Not wasting space on it.
Instead, I am sharing one of the stories from Musical Mysteries in protest of Emilie's black and blank poetry.
“Trumpeter’s Trouble”
It was a usual day at the Youngstrom residence. Mrs. Youngstrom was in the kitchen cooking while she read “McCall’s Magazine”. David, Michael’s 19-year old brother, was watching TV and reading “Science ‘85”. Tina, Michael’s sister, was fixing her motorcycle and reading “Popular Mechanics”. Mr. Youngstrom was complaining about what a stupid case he had presided over that day and was ignoring “The Daily News”. And Mike was in the bathroom reading “Highlights”.
Suddenly the phone rang. At that instant, the mixer stopped, the television muted, a wrench dropped, Mr. Youngstrom stared at the phone and the toilet flushed.
“Hello,” answered Tina.
“Hi!” answered David.
“Hello, how may I help you?” asked Mrs. Youngstrom.
Mr. Youngstrom stared blankly at the phone.
“Youngstrom residence. Michael speaking,” said Michael.
“Hello, may I speak to Mr. Youngstrom?” asked the voice.
“Dad!” “Dad!” “Honey!” “What?” “Dad!” yelled everyone.
“Coming!” he exclaimed. Click, click, click. “Hello, Judge Youngstrom speaking.” Click.
“Hi, this is Mr. Keys, the trumpet player. I need your help.”
And with that, Michael and his family are drawn into a case about a trumpet player using a recording to win a competition. Just prior to a performance, Michael catches him scarfing a piece of chocolate cake, which any real trumpet player would never do, and the 2nd trumpeter from the orchestra replaced the guilty cake eater in concert.
Musical Mysteries was good enough to win the 8th Grade Achievement Award in Imaginative Narrative (so stop judging it). But it shows what the judges knew. Emilie got her Doctorate in clinical psychiatry and is living a super-successful, happily-married, mother-of-two life; and I am sitting here at 2:30 in the morning eating dry Honey Bunches of Oats out of the box writing this book.
Most Promising Author of the Year, my eye!
But a serious discussion here. When would we ever get to read Emilie’s brilliant work again? (Or mine?)
There are some truly great young artists, writers and composers out there. Often schools, corporations, publishers and orchestras offer incredible competitions, many times coming with scholarship money and even a performance or reading. But then where does the work go?
Most of these creative pieces are one and done. I found my book in a box at the bottom of a storage closet at my parents’ house.
What if pieces lived on? What if, after the prize winning concert, original compositions could be heard by many others?
What if young artists’ journeys were documented and could be presented in such a way that the kids become role models to their peers? What if students in underserved communities could find someone who looked like them and be inspired by their creative practice, not only in music, but in any art form. Or even better, could these kids not get a richer experience by being motivated by someone of a different culture or ethnicity?
Because at the end of the day, we all create in the color of imagination.
The other piece of the puzzle here. Everyone has their own creative pace. I have always rejected the criticism that I'm being irresponsible leaving projects to the last minute. Instead, I am using every possible second available to ideate around the most creative possible product.
Emilie agrees.
Comments