Reverend Richard's Sunday Sermon

Dick Bausch (I had him for workshop and sang off-key Ray Charles with him on a Tennessee front porch at two in the morning, which I assume means I can call him Dick) gave a craft lecture on Sunday, July 22 that he claimed “would focus on the life of writing, as much as on the craft.” As a kick-off, though, he played a recording of Flannery O’Conner giving an introduction to “A Good Man is Hard to Find” at the University of Chicago, wherein she discussed how her stories have been described as “Grotesque”, “Southern”, “Southern Gothic”, and other things she didn’t know they were. In her opinion, her fiction is merely designed to do what all good fiction does: tell a story that “will make someone who doesn’t want to listen, listen—and make someone who doesn’t want to see, see.” She talked, as you might expect, in a thick but swift Southern accent, and her delivery was quite charming. Bausch stopped the recording after the opening line “The Grandmother didn’t want to go to Florida,” and I’d say that many in the audience—myself included—were a little disappointed.

Bausch, of course, erased this feeling quickly as he transitioned into a quick lecture on the craft of writing, acknowledging the existence of fiction as artifice, and as an attempt to make ordered sense out of that which is unavoidably random and chaotic. In this sense, fiction is nothing less than a magic act—a keen and elaborate deception in the service of a larger truth. Bausch discussed the fluidity of description, and spoke of context as the first layer of experience and characterization—how a hospital room described from the point of view of a father holding his newborn son would require completely different words than one described from the point of view of a son watching his father die. Even if the contents of the room are identical the character of the person (even if it is the same person, merely at a different point in his life, a man holding an ill son for example rather than a healthy one) changes radically, and the description must reflect this change. Each detail, and its placement, is a new layer of reality—both concrete and imagined. To Bausch, good writing is born out of the compassionate undertaking to see all people as individuals, and the refusal to see them as types. Similarly, it is born from a frame of mind that thinks “more about writing than it does about being a writer.”

Speaking of being a writer, Bausch then laid out what he called his “Ten Commandments of Writing”—bits of advice given to young writers trying to find their way. They are as follows: (1) Read. Try to absorb six to ten good authors a year, but also try to read everything you can get your hands on. Bausch said he’s never met a writer he considered better than he was that wasn’t also better read than he was. (2) Imitate. Like painters copying a painting, writers discover their style and subject matter by—temporarily at least—borrowing those of others. (3) Be regular and ordinary in habit. Work at the same time every day—in this way you will train your mind to kick in subconsciously. (4) Train yourself to work anywhere. (5) Be patient. Resign yourself to failure, and expect it. It happens to everyone. (6) Be willing. Trust your instincts, and accept the risks that come with following those instincts. (7) Eschew Politics. If a character makes a speech about his deepest held beliefs, make damn sure you don’t agree with any of them. (8) Don’t think—Dream. (9) Don’t compare yourself to anyone else. (10) Ignore all general advice.

I liked number nine especially, which seemed particularly relevant in the context of a writers’ conference.

Elsewhere in his talk, by the way, Bausch told a reputedly true story about a writer whose name—unfortunately—I didn’t catch. The story is that of a writer working in a mountain cabin with a broken sump pump, which caused a sewage back-up in the basement. The contractor came out, and over the course of his visit asked the man what he did for a living. Upon receiving his answer the contractor—who was ankle deep in sewage and wiping raw waste off the walls at the time—shook his head and muttered, “A writer? Jesus. I tell you, man, I don’t know how you can do what you do.”

Good stuff.

If anyone knows the writer in this story, by the way, send me an email. Also, a friend of mine told me that Bausch’s “Ten Commandments” also appeared in the introduction to the most recent Norton Anthology of Short Fiction. If anyone could confirm or disconfirm this, I’d appreciate it. Until next time!

Posted by Alan Ackmann - Aug 7, 08:05 PM.
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