I can still visualize him though I haven’t seen him in over 30 years. A head of hair, still full but thinning, impossibly white and shiny. His shoulders sloped enough to age him but twinkly blue eyes subtracted time. Translucent skin and rosy cheeks and predictably dull cardigan.
And then those ties; he made them himself. Pastels or florals and his signature design: sewn straight across the bottom instead of diamonding to the end like a normal tie. Which fits, because “normal” isn’t a word I would have use to describe Mr. I’ve-long-ago-forgotten-his-name. It’s easier to sew them that way, he explained. He was no slave to fashion but his style had a distinctive Je nest sais quoi about it.
He was my freshman honor’s English class professor and he taught me something I’ve never forgotten: written well, you can transform the ordinary and mundane to extraordinary and spectacular.
I know this to be true because three decades later I can still hear him reading the paper he used as an example: “How To Make a Perfect Coke”
The assignment had been a “How-to” paper, and either I wrote about how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or another classmate did; it’s the only other title I remember.
Leaning back in the chair behind his desk, Mr. Homemade Tie begins to school us in great writing by reading. He fills the space with dramatic pause lingering on the words he most savors. His eyes loll back in his head at his favorite parts. He’s memorized that blasted paper, and by the end of it his lips are smacking at the mere suggestion of a perfect Coke.
The entire class was thirsty.
We heard ice cubes plinking into glass and the tab stabbing open a can. We saw an amber stream pouring three inches above the glass, stopping precisely 3/4 of an inch below the rim. Our fingertips and palms were cold and wet. We smelled anticipation and tasted perfection.
We learned great writing harnesses our senses, yes, but reaches even further, into heart and marrow. The best writing compels us to f e e l something special and magical and memorable. About anything. About everything.
Great writing sets up residence within us. It populates our thoughts long after we’ve read or heard the words.
The last instructions were something about waiting a minute or two before drinking, to assure the beverage was properly chilled. I’ll be damned if every time I’ve poured a soft drink since then I’ve hesitated as long as I could before sipping to avoid sub-standard quality.
A lesson remembered and the extraordinary ordinary….
That is the power of great writing, but maybe even more so, the power of great teaching.
Love, love, love this article about writing. I believe that what he says is what determines whether I continue reading a book I pick up or whether I put it back in the library or bookstore… also I think it applies to reading out loud. When someone reads a story, they can make you feel like you are a part of it. They do not have to make special noises or voices… but simple pauses and inflections at the right moment… and the value they give to different words spoken. Years ago in my high school english class… someone wrote a haiki about a Red Delicious Apple looking like snow falling… even in such a short poem… it captured the whole classroom. I am 57 now… that was 1975. Magical and memorable for sure.
Words remembered from that long ago are incredible testimony to that body of work–no matter IF it was 5/7/5 syllables :).
I mean a “haiku”… I need to proofread !
😉 I’m always amazed at the mistakes I catch AFTER I click “publish”. You’re in good company here. 🙂
Delicious.
One-word comments like that are my favorite :).
Fantastic post. I can see the effect he had on you. I thoroughly enjoy your writing. You make me want to write better.
Dianne!!! THAT is one of the nicest things anyone could ever say about me–thank you! I’m honored, truly :). xo
Love this, Robin! Definitely makes me want to write better!
Angela,
Maybe that’s why I write so much more slowly than I used to…. Hmmm….
Great post on writing. You had a great teacher/professor. He taught you to write with feeling and flair–which you have–not just to write.
Love your writing!
Blessings 🙂
Beth :),
Your comment is a blessing–thank you! It’s funny to think about every job I’ve ever had has had something to do with writing (my education/professional background is marketing, PR, sales, advertising). I didn’t like it so much back in the day, but in recent history, when I’m in the “zone” I LOVE it!
Such good advice, I love writing (and I’d love others to love it too…haha…) so it’s something for me to ponder on, thank you.
What a blessing to have had a teacher like him, and the fact that you can remember his teaching rather than his name means that he made his lessons about his students and not about himself. Mark of a great teacher I think.
Sarah,
He was one of my older professors so unless he’s a 90+-year-old on the internet (stranger things, right?), it’s conceivable he’s no longer living. But I wish I could tell him his lesson that day made a lasting impression. I’ve often thought of him – and those ties! – with a smile.