After the submission of my writing career reveal, the inevitability of several opinions grown from reading the piece on my career changed weighed heavily on my mind. Folks in the brewing industry were a large sample of that population, including mentors and former bosses/owners. No communication has stemmed from the latter, and I don’t believe ever will at this point. Or they’re constructing an immense email with fury, planning on sending soon. Regardless, as time passes, the anxiety dampens and soothes itself out.
Like many of us, our parent’s opinion is regarded as the peak of what we can ascend to be, often to a fault. My father’s opinion is no exception to this rule. He’s experienced my growth as a human unlike anyone else in my life. In my childhood, my father was an early adopter of upcoming technology, bringing an Apple computer into the house as soon as it was publicly available. As our family Nostradomous, my father knew the future was filled with this technology, stressing the importance of being savvy with it. Maybe it’s a leap, but he’s somewhat responsible for my writing career. I’ll let him have it.
Through this forward future thinking mindset, my father planted a seed to be conscious of alternative ways in life. He’s advocated for me when no one else has, and has supported me on my various paths, be them hobby or career. When the initial broaching of becoming a brewer came to light in my late teens, my father’s opinion trumped all others; if he was cool with my perceived passion for brewing, then my mind could rest at ease and carry forward with pursuing this career.
Back in January when my writings were slowly beginning here, my father was made a subscriber against his will. For those who know him, when he’s called upon for his thoughts/opinions, you’re often dealt a succinct, though humorously quick witted response. Oftentimes, my role becomes one of a government agent; interrogating him to supply more information. From time to time his opinion was asked about a specific piece of writing; though more often than not, his silence upon each piece published here was an approval in itself.
This past piece, though more specifically the reveal, was an incredibly important part of my next development. Given my father’s silence in the past, I wasn’t hurt or peeved by his lack of discussion on the matter. I knew, with anything, reaching out and asking him would be the only avenue in obtaining an opinion. Yesterday, after our usual casual talk about movies/shows we’ve watched, I asked him his thoughts:
“Well, you have the wrong spelling of ‘citing’.”
A short laugh emanated in response to his fairly typical, yet unsurprising, critique. I was already on my way to fix it the second the words left his mouth. After a minute of discussion over the location of said mistake, and the correction, I once again asked if there was anything else.
“Oh, I don’t think so. I guess I can look again. I didn’t know I was supposed to go through and edit it.”
Again, another laugh from me. “While I appreciate your ‘editorial expertise’, my question was more about the piece itself! How did it make you feel?”
“Oh, ok, I thought you were referring to more of the mechanics. I enjoyed it. So you wanna be a writer?” “Yea, it’s something I’d like to dive into more.” “Ok. Well, for your next piece, you should consider shortening it. It was a bit long.”
More laughter, and a sigh twisted with an unseen eye roll. I’ve always appreciated his candor.
While my father’s opinion on beer was never given too much weight other than his enjoyment of the beverage (he’s never been a big drinker), his opinion on literature is another story. The man has an insatiable appetite for reading; consuming books as if someone told him Fahrenheit 451 has become our new reality. Living next to a metropolitan library would be a dream for him, though living in a Frank Lloyd Wright designed home next to a library would be his heaven. Because of this unknown inherent characteristic, his opinion on writing, especially editing, is unquestioned. Having someone in your corner who will give you a constructive opinion without bias, is always appreciated, if not necessary. Fun fact: He also prints out every online article onto paper. At first, this behavior was admonished given the product waste. As I’ve grown old, and my allowance for reading screens diminished, I’ve come to understand this attitude.
From here we had a healthy discussion over how these types of personal essay-like stories are difficult to write, due to their emotive nature. As the conversation warmed up, we discussed the use of concise structure; saying exactly what you mean, nothing more. Citing a letter from Mark Twain to a friend, “I apologize for such a long letter - I didn’t have time to write a short one.”
While the piece is extensively long, the compilation time felt like a millenia. The pieces are generated from pulling back a veil on my life, and terraforming unknown recesses to dredge up something familiar. During this process, thoughts/feelings can often surface like a geyser, resulting in my mind stressing the necessity to intertwine them all somehow. Exhaustion is a likely symptom, and the pages can drown in length.
My father challenged me to edit the piece down by 25%, but keeping the heart and direction of the story true north. Writing more frequently, but shortening the stories - while still expressing everything desired - would help my writing habit in the long run. In some instances, though, the pieces pine for every feeling on the page. With more of an audience, my attempt will be to post more frequently, albeit a bit shorter in length; but no promises yet.
Towards the end of our conversation, he mentioned “You could write a book with the length you have written, but also with everything you’ve experienced. Not necessarily a memoir, but incorporating your experiences into something of fiction.” This is absolutely true. I joked about living many lives in my seemingly short amount of time spent here so far on this pale blue dot. The stories & topics are often in excess, wiggling around in the alcoves of my mind, though forming them into coherent structures someone would enjoy reading is a completely different beast. We’ll see what the future holds.
We trended on this topic for the next little while before saying our goodbyes. Our communication style has always been somewhat cryptic to everyone except each other. A lot of context clues, and reading between the lines. The reason is easily placed on differences in generation or family dynamics. Expressing our emotions has never been our strongest suit (hey hey men), though after the death of my mother, an accessible trail was forged to negate the barrier and convey our sentiments. It’s a work in progress.
The genesis for my Halloween obsession is discovered
But I’ll say it here more directly - I’m happy/proud to have him around, and as a force in my life. My imagination is entertaining his opinion upon reading this, though a groan will be heard from here, signaling his proud satisfaction.
Until next time,
Cory
PS: While compiling/writing this post, I enjoyed the companionship of the singer Torres (more specifically, their album Thirstier), this hilarious quarterly magazine, and the word ‘pishogue’ (Sorcery, witchcraft).