Why We Write: John Starr
Keep scrolling to read our first new, public submission for this series...
Why We Write returns with an essay from John Starr! Explore John’s work on his Writer Profile and check out his feature project THE FIVE CENT KID on blcklst.com now.
And learn more about how to submit YOUR Why We Write essay here.
Take it away, John!
Two childhood events have shaped my life more than any others; winning an essay contest in elementary school, and losing my terminally ill father in my freshman year of high school. The former won me a seat on the McDonald’s “Big Mac Bus” for a joyous, all-expense paid road trip to Walt Disney World. The latter cursed me with, as my first college writing instructor put it, “A wealth of material to draw from.” I’m good with the former, haunted by the latter.
In high school, it sent me into an emotional spiral that saw me barely graduate with a 1.5 GPA. For four years I played hooky, doodled on exams, discovered fast cars and motorcycles, dated and never took the SAT. I was too lost in denial and intoxicated by escapism to realize the mistakes I was making, but ultimately not too stupid to wake up and try to fix it before it was too late. A few years after high school spit me out, I enrolled in junior college. I was determined to get straight A’s and compensate for the disaster that was high school.
I thought it would be easy. Then came math. It took two semesters of math lab tutors to painfully get me through... basic algebra. Ok. Majors in science and engineering were out. So I took a drawing class and... dropped it after the instructor used my first-day drawing to illustrate — to the whole class — typical beginners mistakes.
I dreaded one thing more than math and art class: English class. But once upon a time I had won that elementary school essay contest, and I really was the only kid in our district to win. Surely that counted for something?
Two weeks into my first college creative writing class I... was still there. My poetry sucked, my vocabulary was embarrassing, and I could not diagram a sentence (I still can’t). My test scores were in the dumps. But something magical happened every time I wrote an essay; my heart opened up and my soul drifted free. And I was never at a loss for words — simple words, sure, but emotional words that mattered, and told a story. They’d spill out with catchy rhythm, emphatic points and engaging prose, often accompanied by tears on my cheeks that I’d try to hide, or amused giggles that made fellow students eye me suspiciously. Emotional gravity makes simple words count, I learned. But it wasn’t a method; it was just who I was. Writing taught me who I am.
When the time came to pitch our main short story ideas to the class, my confidence was soaring. For one, I greatly enjoyed writing and was starting to believe maybe I could actually write. Two, any student whose story got published in the school’s literary magazine got an automatic A in their English course. Only two or three short story slots were up for grabs school-wide.
I pitched my idea. It was nothing emotional, just a simple story about... a housefly with a dream. Yes, a housefly. He wanted to move up in the world, stop eating filth off the floor and instead eat cake at a nicer home where, his best friend warned, he’d likely never survive. Nice homes don’t tolerate flies. The whole class did what you’re probably doing right now; they laughed. Out loud. Surely the instructor will have my back? I thought. After all, stories like this are why the class is called Creative Writing.
The laughter died down.
“Well,” the instructor said, leaning across her podium, “That’s not very imaginative. But there’s still time to come up with another idea.” I remember those words in verbatim.
I churned my hurt into a stew of motivation. I got home, plugged in my electric typewriter (yes, I’m that old), put on my thinking cap and wrote... my housefly story. F ‘em. I revised it, submitted it to the school’s magazine staff, and sweated out the rest of the semester.
My writing was promising, maybe even good. But my test scores were still terrible. I was like a musician who could play beautiful music but could not read a lick of sheet music. The semester wore on without any word on who got their stories published.
Finals day came and there I sat, near tears, defeated by a formidable English final exam. There was no hiding my agony. After a while the instructor strolled over, leaned into my ear and whispered “Don’t sweat the exam. They selected your housefly story for publication. I was going to tell you later.” She walked back to her desk.
I dropped my pencil, leaned back and let out a loud sigh of relief. Maybe a little too loud. The instructor returned.
“Don’t gloat in your victory,” she said. I sat confused for a moment, then slowly hunkered over my exam and randomly filled in the remaining answers.
After class, I cracked open my pocket dictionary and looked up... “gloat”.
Why do I write? Well, firstly it ain’t the only thing I like doing. After transferring to film school and riding the Dean’s list all the way through, I wound up editing TV shows for a living. Turns out you need neither math skills nor a rich vocabulary to be a good editor. And I’ve sold a few magazine articles over the years.
Unscripted editing is thrilling exercise in story-telling and problem-solving that gives me a sense of accomplishment not found in writing. But the emotional outlet and total freedom writing offers brings me a satisfaction not found in editing. For me writing is a fun, daring, amusing, frightening, bittersweet, sometimes painful, venture into the self. The stories live in my heart, the “footage” lives in my head, and when they’re ready to come out and play... they dance together on the page. And I let them. I like writing stories that dance on the page. It’s why I write.
Thanks to John!
John Starr is a published writer, television producer and editor.
More Why We Write:
Jainaba M. Seckan on creating through loss and finding new purpose
Brandon Carbaugh on writing for his beloved brother
Ben Mehlman on the power of slowing down
If you’re not already a member of the Black List website, here you go:
Writers: Create a free Writer Profile and whenever you’re ready (and only then) upload your project, order professional feedback, and explore the various opportunities we have from time to time.
Industry Professionals Register for an Industry Membership to discover new material before everyone else.
See you in the comments.