Ass to Sidewalk
Mark, a charter member of the Old Crow Book Club, was sitting on his usual section of sidewalk, only this time his seat was frigid because a cold snap had gripped Portland. Sean, another member of the Club, stood near Mark swigging from a fifth of, well, Old Crow, naturally.
A few days earlier Mark and I had discussed his latest reading material—The Iliad and The Odyssey checked out from the library. As Mark showed me the books, I wondered if he was the only homeless man in America currently reading these titles. I also wondered when I would ever get around to reading them.
At that time, Mark and I also had discussed his idea for writing a novel of the Creation from Eve's point of view. Mark was positively giddy about the project and was riffing ideas on the garden, the apple, the serpent, Adam's rib, the fig leaf, the murderous son. Sean was there, too, egging Mark on, imploring him to write the book. Get on it!
Mark told me he knew a female teacher and social worker in the neighborhood and wanted to interview them for a female perspective before he shaped an identity for Eve, the narrator of his novel. I thought that a great idea and told Mark to get cracking. He said he didn't have a journal to take notes and I made a mental note to procure one for him.
I carried one with me now, a a black and white marbled classic of the type that I'd written in my whole life and bought by the hundreds for students.
Mark saw me and gave his customary enthusiastic greeting. So did Sean. I walked up and handed him the journal. He went nuts with appreciation.
Then I did something I always do with prospective writers. I gave away the secret to success to becoming a writer. FOR FREE! A mere three words! No precious guides to consult. No combative workshops to attend. No oracles to pay. Nothing whatsoever to do with going online.
I asked Mark if he wanted to know the secret. He did. I told him to stand up. He stood up. I told him to watch. I was going to demonstrate the secret without saying a word and then he had to guess it. He looked a little surprised but was game.
By now, another member of the Club showed up so I had a tiny audience for my demonstration.
I pantomimed the secret. He didn't get it. I pantomimed again, the act of sitting in a chair. Mark still didn't get it.
“ASS TO CHAIR,” I screamed.
“You just do the work,” said Sean.
“Yes. That's all there is,” I said.
Mark roared his approval and we fist bumped. Sean gargled some Old Crow.
“But, Matt,” said Mark. “I don't have a chair!”
“Then ass to sidewalk!” I yelled, and I was yelling and had no idea why.
Well, maybe I did. I wanted Mark to write his damn novel and I sure as hell would help him publish it when he did.