While assessing one's own talents is a difficult task for any soul with a shred of humility, for a writer to comment on his own writing is a daunting duty indeed. Nevertheless, I hope that the perspective I've gained from the time that has passed between story and critique, coupled with the added insight attained from the classical orators and philosophers, is enough to render both my ethos desirable and my words worthwhile. And, since I've often found that reading the artist's personal take on a piece they've written to be a sort of literary icing on the cake, I guess it's only fitting I attempt to share some thoughts on my works too.
The first group of writings that I'd like to look at are three newspaper articles I wrote during my tenure as columnist for "Inside Elmhurst." Although this type of column, which is meant to drum up interest in the community, is common in many local papers, in the past I tended to find these features either boring, a sort of extended community calender that provided little insight (let alone excitement) about the event, or gossipy, whose alleged exclusive tips always bordered on baloney. Since this was not the ethos I wished to create between me and my community, I sought a different way, a trust based on the commonplaces I shared with the common man.
In "Ryan McLean...," the first of my columns I've included, I was just a little over a month into my new role, and thus my ethos (and voice) was still being established. Since my body of work with the Elmhurst Press was still scant, I attempted to enhance my ethos by eluding to my previous writing experience in the opening quote (I had already mentioned my book Champions of Faith in my first IE column) while at the same time making light of my "expertise" ("and being the type who enjoys connecting sports with just about anything") to show I was really just an ordinary guy who happened to like to write. Furthermore, I sought to gain the trust of not only Ryan's gracious if slightly over-protective parents but that of an extremely shy and quiet seventh grader (and by extension both age groups of readers) by being a professional writer with the one--letting Ryan's dad show his off his knowledge by explaining the "lift, weight and thrust," the scientific angle of the contraption--and being a curious kid with Ryan 'til he finally opened up about the part of the project that he took pride in, which of course was sports. And, once both father and son (and mother!) were happy, I closed the article with what would become my trademark humorous pathos; that although I was now a responsible parent myself and thus "realized we were not about to head out to the street and start heaving baseballs, let alone hockey pucks," I showed that I (and hopefully my readers) still had "a young man's heart" by pointing out "that even in the year 2002, throwing round objects (at least for a male!) as far as one can" was still cool.
Although "Ryan McLean" was one of my first articles, many of my written and rhetorical conventions were already in place. Newspaper writing is a genre where brevity is at a premium, but whereas this kept some of my favorite stylistic conventions such as alliteration ("head out to the street to start heaving...hockey pucks") and inter-line parallelism and rhyming ("his dad Jim sat in on the conversation, just in case his son's answers needed a little elaboration") to a minimum, I believe it enhanced my other literary choices. For example, I used both the first person perspective and question and answer style to, as Sharon Crowley aptly notes in her Ancient Rhetoric for Contemporary Students text, " draw attention to certain points" (pg. 207). Interestingly, while I had not read Ms. Crowley's book until recently, I realized in retrospect that I agreed wholeheartedly with her reasons, despite conventions, for (usually) using the first person perspective. Indeed, Crowley's rational ("it seemed...more honest," yet not "too authoritative and decisive," so that "the readers would more readily identify with [me]") for adopting this voice easily won out over my editor's tired old Journalism 101 lament, "you're not supposed to put yourself into the story!" But whether it was favorable reader response or the mere fact that a good writer is hard to find, by May my editor was not only won over, but was handing me stories usually reserved for the full time folks at Press Publications.
If "Ryan McLean" got me acclaim from the middle school crowd (including a truly touching "Thank You" letter from Ryan's mom) "Wishing for stars" not only brought me kudos from (Elmhurst) College, but a big pat on the back from my paper for "taking lemons and making lemonade." As in many of my columns, (and in all three I'm critiquing) I opened (also against conventional newspaper wisdom) with an attention getting quote. But in a sign that perhaps my ethos was increasing, the quote was from an exclusive invitation as opposed to my spouse. And, my out of breath downplay of our handshake not withstanding, Charley Henderson greeting me by name was most certainly ethically a positive. Finally, while these columns tended not to rely heavily on data, Dr. Gilbert Pearson was undoubtedly the community authority this situation called for, and his testimony appeared to be the right touch to put the story over the top. Unfortunately, his honesty, not only in debunking the printed PR hype "light pollution [is] a problem as far as seeing all five planets through the telescope at once," but in derailing the night's significance "it's so cloudy you would see as much through the telescope as you would with your eyes closed," threatened to make the article an absolute dud of dullness. But as an ancient philosopher (and a middle-aged writer) once said, "where there's a will, there's a way."
If there is a common thread in my columns, besides the fact they focused on the common people, it is that each article came to a seeming dead end, only to resurrect both the hopes of its participants and the dreams of the readers by story's end. If making a (praiseworthy) story out of a science project that was over in two seconds described by a kid who barely said two words seemed futile, a telescope on a cloudy night with a cranky professor and some gloomy students clearly did not offer much promise either. Call my maxims ("where there's a will...," "not to judge a book by it's cover") corny, but every other newspaper reporter left after Pearson's dismal proclamation, while my persistence in both action and language won over not only coed but Doctor and reader alike. And I believe it was because my story focused not on the telescope but on those behind it, allowing not the stars but the people to shine.
While "Preservation..." was neither one of my funnier "IE" stories or even very fun to write, it was probably my most important as it had the most positive community impact. Perhaps not so coincidentally, it was also my most controversial. Ironically, its apparently innocent opening quote, this time not from my spouse or a press release but a supportive reader, seemed to complete the ethos I was after. Unfortunately, as Socrates discovered so long ago, though the honest ethos may be the most rewarding, it may also be the most dangerous.
Although I'd like to think I always packed a lot of punch into a short amount of space, there's more going on in "Preservation is on the mind..." than most pieces. Historical preservation of landmark houses and buildings was a hot topic in Elmhurst back then, and while I was quite sympathetic to the preservationists plight (and already had written one column on the subject from the unusual angle of a teenager fighting to preserve "ancient" town history), I also was not the Elmhurst Press' editor, and could not exactly come right out and blast the big shots mowing down architecturally significant buildings as dishonest, short-sighted and shifty. Thus, while "Wishing for stars..." and "Ryan McLean..." each had one basic theme and enthymeme, "Preservation..." had several going at the same time. If "McLean's" enthymeme could be summed up something like, "Most boys (and men) like sports/Most also like combining sports with other activities/Therefore, most boys will like McLean's machine," and "Wishing for stars" as "Although academic work in important, a lot of what you learn in college (and writing!) occurs outside the classroom/The new observatory is an invaluable classroom aid/But the telescope is also great for non-academic learning," the obvious (and safe) "Preservation" enthymematic premise is "The people of Elmhurst have given me and my column overwhelming support/Individuals who are shown support should give something back/I will help Reginald Darley get his story published," it's "revolutionary" enthymeme, that (also according to Ancient Rhetoric) "'rhetors are obligated by their membership in communities always to write as good [and honest] persons'/I know that those businessmen responsible for tearing down old buildings are not always acting ethically or honestly/I am obliged to expose them and urge others to fight against them," is also undeniable.
First, I think "Preservation" benefits from the fact that Reginald Darley comes off as such a credible proximate witness. Certainly, Ryan McLean and Rachel Bridger could be considered such, but Mr. Darley, from his past as a journalist to his present as a devoted husband-father-grandfather, respected businessman, not to mention longtime owner of a landmark historical house in Elmhurst, more than allows him to meet the four criteria of observing, perceiving, offering and accurately reporting evidence that Ms. Crowley notes in AR (pg. 144). Still, while his personal example of the joys and struggles of preserving an historical home prove invaluable, his discourse would have run out of steam if I didn't give him a little nudge in the right direction. Yes, my helping Reg get his story published does seem to complete the journalistic angle of the story, but the true turning point is undoubtedly when Darley is about to give up on the Fischer/Crane house, and I hit him with the ol' "pen may be mightier than the sword" maxim. This not only revives Reg, but revs him up to the point of talking revolution, and his American patriot analogy not only gets the message out, but gives me the perfect line with which to end my story.
While "Let the Revolution begin!" is meant to refer to the revolution of kindness the mutual charitable acts exchanged between writer and reader in the column's last paragraph, I'd be lying if I pretended that it didn't also allude to (and second) Reg's talk of rebellion against the dark local forces of historical destruction. Certainly the readers thought so, for upon publication the paper was flooded with calls and letters denouncing the condemning of the beloved Fischer-Crane building. I never knew if my bosses were in on the smoke-filled, big money backroom deal done without the approval of the city council by an Immaculate Conception pastor and a mayor and property owner who were members of his church, but despite (or perhaps because of) the great reader response, the main editor of the Elmhurst Press almost immediately informed me I could no longer even mention "Preservation," as it was no longer a subject suitable for a community column. I reluctantly agreed, but when the endings of my columns (in the tradition of filler news stories edited for space, something I had previously been assured my column wasn't) were now either unceremoniously lopped off, or any possible double entendre was dropped, I knew my usefulness there was over and resigned, allowing "Inside Elmhurst" to go back to it's previous dull existence. No, I did not save the Fisher/Crane (it came down unannounced one dawn so no one could protest) but my column did lead to the passing of a Preservation Ordinance, not to mention a host of new friends and fond memories.
When I was writing "Inside Elmhurst," I figured it would be a fun sidelight, and had no idea a local column could make such a great impact. This experience proved to me that the right language, when combined with right ethos, will always make a difference, even when (or sometimes because) others try to stop it. Or as Ms. Crowley would say, "Rhetoric is not the enemy of democracy. Silence is."
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