Robert Leonard Reid
Author of Arctic Circle (David R. Godine, 978-1-56792-350-6).
Who shaped your ideas of what it means to be a writer?
That’s a complex question but I can mention two early influences. One was my mother, who taught me that the imagination is a powerful thing, and who gave me both the means to find it and the courage to use it. She made of my pre-school years a kind of wonderland. We did magic tricks, flew kites, designed costumes that enabled us to visit other planets. She saw to it that invisible but friendly beings left messages and prizes for me at unexpected locations around the house. One activity in particular must have contributed to the fostering of my creative courage. I would sit before a typewriter and tell my mother I was going to write a story for her. This was long before I knew how to read or write, but somehow those limitations didn’t deter me. I would sit up very straight, address the typewriter, and begin typing madly. Over the next minute or so I would churn out a page of complete gibberish. Satisfied that I was finished, I would hand the paper to my mother, who would take a glance and then begin reading.
"Once there was a little bear. One morning it was very, very cold, so he decided to build a fire. Alas, there was no...."
The other influence was Arnold Jeschke, one of my high school English teachers. Arnold Jeschke taught me that writing—indeed, all art—is serious business and not to be trifled with. He was a tall, sandy-haired, slightly mysterious man whose most intriguing feature was a nearly imperceptible, close-lipped smile. He conducted English class as though it were a great symphony, investing it with the importance of life and death. Striding up and down the aisles, thundering, imploring—a word here, a frown, a gentle supplication: he wanted so much! He taught students at all levels, respected the unique and precious gift of each, and expected perfection from all. We memorized passages from Milton, Gray, and Keats because if we did not, his despair would destroy us. "How long should we work on this essay?" one of us asked.
"An hour. A week. A lifetime," was the indefatigable reply, uttered as though the answer were obvious. Another gallant soul screwed up his courage to ask: "When will we be finished with Shakespeare?"
It was a set-up a teacher might wait a lifetime for.
"NEVER!" cried Arnold Jeschke. As the word burst from his lips he slammed his fist onto his desk, raising the entire class as one from our seats. Yes, he wanted so much. That’s the best reason I can think of to explain why many of his students, myself included, came to want it, too.
When did you first think about becoming a writer?
Not until I was well into my thirties. Before that, I spent a number of years attempting to become a professional musician and songwriter, without much success. Years later I’ve at last begun to make some headway in those arenas, and I devote probably half of my creative time to writing and arranging music and to playing piano and keyboards professionally; the other half to writing fiction and nonfiction. Last year saw the production of my first work for the theater, a musical comedy for which I wrote the music and lyrics as well as the book; I’m currently revising the work for a new production slated to open in the summer of 2010.
In my experience there’s nothing unusual about an artist expressing himself or herself in two or even three mediums. My best friend is a much-published poet who also happens to be an accomplished painter, and I can cite many other examples. It seems to me that there may be a beneficial cross-over effect in such instances, whereby intensive study and practice of, say, sculpture turns out to make one a better singer. Questioned about the distinctions among jazz, pop, classical, and other varieties of music, Sonny Rollins asserted that the distinctions were silly and that one day it would all be "one big music." Perhaps we should go further and view literature, music, theater, and the rest as simply one big art. The challenge for me as an artist is to say as precisely as possible what I must say, and if I have to dance it, paint it, or perform it with trained seals in order to accomplish my goal, then so be it.
Do you have a daily routine? What's good about it? What do you hate about it?
For twenty-five years I’ve had a day job as a freelance mathematics textbook writer/editor, a practice I keep separate from what I think of as my creative work. During that quarter-century, there has rarely been a day when I wasn’t at my desk by 5:30 a.m., writing words or music for two or three hours before shifting gears to begin a solid day of work for the textbook company that employs me. This regimen has enabled me to write hundreds of articles, essays, and songs, and eight books, a good deal of it published but significant portions not. I know this will sicken some people who read this but I can’t wait to get started each day.
What advice would you offer to unpublished writers?
Revise, revise, revise, revise, revise. Then put away what you’re working on for a week or a month or a year and then revise it again. Then revise it again. When it is finally perfect, submit it to a magazine or agent or publisher and begin dreaming of seeing your masterwork in print. It will soon come back to you with coffee spilled on it and accompanied by a poorly written rejection slip. Send your piece out again at once, before you have had a chance to conclude that you are a pathetic loser, and begin dreaming again. Know that it is the editor or the agent who is the pathetic loser and do not shrink from that knowledge. When your work comes back, as it surely will, send it out again. When it comes back, send it out again. I have sold articles after twenty rejections. I have a short story that has collected over fifty rejections in twenty years. I will continue to send it out until I either hit pay dirt or die. In my last will and testament I have instructed my executor to continue sending the story out after my demise. Wear them down, that’s the idea. Do not cease in your efforts. Know this: You have a gift and a dream. It is your solemn duty to exercise the first, and to follow the second.
Visit Robert's Web site at www.robertleonardreid.com
