Every great once in a while I get fan mail. Or, a nice note about something, really. I sent this little bit from EPB as a response to such a note.
I am not a great writer; though I will nowadays admit that I’m a good, completely self-taught bit of a hack. I never finished community college (Andrea had something to do with that đ ) and I learned to write and developed what would become a “style” by reading constantly for the first 20 years of my life. I haven’t read a book in 20 years, ironically. But I came of age reading everything from Hemingway to Heinlein, heavy on classic pulp fiction, Damon Runyon, Charles R. Cross’ Rocket magazine… subconsciously, I think it was probably Playboy and the “Playboy interview” that influenced me most. I began reading that in earnest at about age 13.
I write as I speak; better than I speak. I try to write as honestly as I’m able… and I write as a dare to myself, and I’ve dared my self-conscious and actually quite shy self to do things my entire life. For better or worse. I think a lot of people are like that.
I love to analyze things (in the musical world, especially); to dissect a song or a situation or a problem, and then zoom out to the biggest possible picture I can reach. Put it into context. But most of all, I love to hear or read someone’s good, personal story – and being able to remember it, being able to re-tell it. Nothing better than a good story. Hell, there was a great one the other night – a 42-year-old zamboni driver won a game tending emergency goal for the Carolina Hurricanes in the NHL.
My pitfalls? Mostly anxiety, as time has sped by in my life. Professionally, I have to be as great as I can be. Good is not enough, for I view every professional effort as a job interview, an audition, being out naked in front of hundreds or thousands or dozens of people. Anxiety, “writer’s block” – agonizing.
Writers are artists, but not afforded the same patronage as musicians or sculptors or ballerinas. We don’t even complain about it, we’re so low on the totem pole. Sure, there are grants for specific things sometimes, but generally speaking there is no more of a classic “starving artist” than a writer. It used to be time-honored to make less money than a schoolteacher; nowadays, if you make as much money as a subway busker – you’re doing very well.
This memory of meeting my amazing wife again anecdotally supports this cultural phenomenon.
– By Steve Stav
XTC – Earn Enough for Us, by Steve Stav
The first time I saw Andrea after 14 years, it was just a friendly date for drinks at a bar called Flowers, down the street and over from me on the Ave. There were no ulterior thoughts or hopes; at the time, she was married and I was dating 2-3 gals who didn’t know each other. But I wanted Andrea to think I was successful. I had a few dollars to my name on that Friday, until a check from the Ballard News Tribune for my column came in the mail. I think maybe $50. I remember dashing to cash it somewhere, and then dashing to make our appointment. On foot; this was the city. It seems that I’ve always had roughly $50 to my name. I’m sorry.
– Steve Stav
