Origins
What would you do if you knew you couldn’t fail? It’s one of those questions that circulates on mass forwarded emails from your lonely aunt who has too much spare time. It’s a stupid question. Who does anything without weighing the pros and cons? Real life is a delicate equation of cause and effect, and if you ignore that truth you will make mistakes.
When I was in the third grade my elementary school had a story-writing contest. Whoever won would get their story made into a book. A real, illustrated, hard-bound book. I knew this was my big shot. The only thing I ever wanted to be was a writer. So I wrote a story about a girl named Charley who traveled to a land of missing socks inside her dryer. I thought Charley was a cool name for a girl. I remember sitting there cross-legged in the cheaply carpeted library when the announcement was made and another girl in my class won. My nine-year-old creative spirit was crushed.
Growing up my life had no drama at all. I lived in a small town, had the same best friend from first grade on, and two parents who really loved each other. The only interesting conflict/resolution I was going to get would come from a book. Even then, I was in love with story. I would come up with crazy ideas for novels about time-traveling girls and boys killed by acid rain. I loved making up characters and feeling the weight of their lives.
About 18 months ago I was driving home from work listening to NPR. Someone was reading a hilarious essay written by a stay at home dad. At the end of the essay, the show’s host said the stay at home dad was a blogger and gave his name and the title of his blog. That was the only introduction I needed. I became enamored with the blogosphere overnight. I read every blog I could find—on some of my favorite blogs I read years of posts—read them like novels. They are about nothing in particular, but everything just the same.
That is how I realized that I am not a novelist like I’d hoped. Instead, I am a non-fiction writer. I’m still completely absorbed by a good story, but I find that true stories are the best stories. After a few weeks of reading blogs I began to wish I had my own blog. The problem was I had nothing worth writing. I have a degree in psychology and was working at a job I hated. Life was pretty normal. Extremely average. But I couldn’t help myself, I needed something–just like when I was a kid reaching for a book–and that something was writing.
That was when I met Kate. Well, I created Kate Blackwell as my pseudonym. I wanted to write honestly about people I know, to tell their stories: setting, conflict, resolution. I wanted to talk about issues with my spirituality and the places I call home. This is something that I would never feel freedom to do without Kate. I’m too scared of people not liking me, of saying something that offends. I don’t want my neo-conservative family to know I think they are neo-conservative. I don’t want my friends to know that I call them racist and shallow. This is the crux of the non-fiction writer. You can’t help but write about yourself; you have to get involved in it.
What would you do if you knew you couldn’t fail? I would write. Write like crazy. Spend lazy mornings in pajamas with a cup of coffee and my laptop. Kate answered that stupid question for me. I still work 40 plus hours a week at a great job that I enjoy, but I enjoy it mainly because I have a life away from the office as Kate.
One day I will get rid of Kate and just be me. William Zinsser says that to be a non-fiction writer you must have an ego. You have to believe that your words are worth writing and your story is worth telling. I’m starting to realize that now. I couldn’t have done it without Kate, but eventually I will.
My hope is that somewhere here, you will read something that causes you to have an original thought—one that sticks with you, one that helps you make decisions and live in the delicate balance of the spiritual and the natural.
