Watch it first and then see if you agree with me here.
My
favorite parts, which prove that it's not just about write what you know but rather
notice the details and tell them true, are these moments: when he holds up a
heart-shaped paperweight and says, "This isn't my desk, by the way";
the twist that at 13 he wrote this piece to stick it to his teacher by making
it as deeply boring as he could; and when he says the old lady's home smelled
"of tea, and lavender, and mold". How much do you learn about him and
the way he sees the world just because he picks up that paperweight and
laghing, says those 7 words? And about his character as a 13 year old wise-guy
kid, from that goal of his? Especially combined with his comeuppance and his
declaration of how proud he was to have failed at his goal but succeeded at something
deeper? And finally -- wow -- can't you just SMELL that old lady's home? Those
3 smells combined in his 13-year-old wise-guy kid's nose? Tea, and lavender,
and mold. It's not a cliche. You never heard somebody's home described like
that and he didn't need to tell you square footage or socio-economic situation
or what color was the wallpaper. He got right to who that lady was, and how he
looked at her, his whole experience sitting there bored and miserable. He
deserved that A. As he later says, "being honest is what counts. Trying to
make the ordinary extraordinary..." So it's not just "write what you
know" but rather: get to the honest stuff, the truth (and the best way
there is through the weird true details you notice or invent, and then invest
with attention) -- that's what makes good writing.
And hooray for excellent teachers, who push us to do better than we think we can.
Love,
Rachel Vail
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