About this series: I revisited my journals from my early years as a freelance writer and found they told a story of their own. In this series I get the rare opportunity to give myself and other writers career advice with nearly 50 years of hindsight. Enjoy!
Weeks of playing newsman, with the deadlines and management responsibilities, were taking their toll on my creative writer alter ego. So when a friend returned from his four-year assignment as a lieutenant in the Navy, I opened up to him — and myself — about what I really wanted to do with my life:
… And Tuesday I slept, except when Rob … came up for a visit. We hit the Colatina, broke out his 21-year-old Chivas, and hauled his stuff up to my room. The rest of the night I spent reading his current issue of The Writer.
I think of myself as a writer, first and foremost. Not a journalist, reporter, editor, or critic — these I excel in only because I’m fascinated by writing. And someday, when I’ve accumulated enough money to devote myself to writing full time, I’ll do it.
Last night, I dreamt of home — and that’s where I’d probably go to live a year as a novelist. I told [Rob] that the life of a literary bum appeals to me. But meanwhile it’s the grind — and maybe a short story brewing in my mind (tomorrow?)
Journal, Volume III
19 February 1980
In those days I kept a separate dream journal and trained myself to wake up and jot down the details before they escaped. Some were even coherent and sources for possible stories.
Rob himself never pursued the life of a literary bum. He re-upped with the Navy for another four years, then went off to business school and a career with many nationally known companies. He did write a book on the manufacturing industry and logistics and later became an investment analyst. He died a few years ago at the age of 60.
… Began “The Cocktail Party,” which is definitely lacking something. So is “A Cat Looks at a King,” which I just re-read. I wonder if it’s worth it. …
ibid.
20 February 1980
… I’m beginning to realize I’m by nature a writer, and that this work, although rewarding, is also restricting. I expect to quit on or before Dec. 31, 1980. I’d like to bum off and write fiction and humor — but no telling what life will be like in a year. If my writing keeps up like “The Cocktail Party,” FORGET IT!
ibid.
21 February 1980
You’ve already heard about the short story idea “A Cat Looks at a King.” I think this and the elusive “The Cocktail Party” were short stories to be set in the Doberman University universe, a lampoon of Dartmouth College. Doberman, in turn, is set in Betelgeuse, New York, hometown for a series that is still a work in progress.
I think the two short stories both took place in a coed fraternity much like the one that formed my universe for what was at that point a third of my adult life. The president of the fictional university was named King. The cocktail party was probably inspired by a “faculty ‘tails” party at the old House. I was beginning to mature enough to realize what had promise and what didn’t. These didn’t.
I was also beginning to see the two paths — journalist and creative writer — diverging. I didn’t realize that the split would come quicker than the end of the year.
