The depth of a purpose

 

During lunch this afternoon I began reading Roads to Quoz by William Least Heat-Moon and on page 13 found the quote that epitomizes who I am and what I aspire to become.

"I've spent so many years rambling alone and not knowing exactly the reason, I now believe the answer to why we 'were thus upon the road' lies in both the why and the how I became a writer in the first place: to break those long silent miles, I must stop and hunt stories and only later set down my gatherings in order to release them one day to wander on their own."

In July 2012 I relocated to Denton, Texas to begin the quest for a Master's Degree in Journalism at the University of North Texas (UNT). The question I asked myself, "What kind of writer did I want to become?" I had a blog and also wrote a couple of pieces for Route 66 publications, but did not know what exactly was next. After taking Reporting and Practices, taught by author, journalist and teacher, George Getschow, I slowly began to wonder am I doing the right thing or do I know what the hell I am doing.

On an evening just before the end of the first semester I walked into Getschow's office. I began to slowly reveal myself by telling him I wanted to be a highway writer, a person of sorts to drive along two-lane highways in this country, look for interesting facets and write about it. I was not yet certain about being a storyteller. He glared at me, momentarily, almost as if he was sizing me to see if I was worthy of such a large task. Over the next year and a half he encouraged me to sign up for his classes. From a woman's undying attempt to bring a state historical marker to a Texas community along the Red River (still in progress) to a West Texas rancher, who despite facing a scarcity of water and other obstacles over the ranch's history continues to fight on, I have begun to dig into the strata of my soul, which some people call a gift. However, after the story, he invited me to part take in a class he taught fellow inspiring writers in Archer City, Texas, a half-hour outside Wichita Falls.

While I felt timid and unsure, I decided to give it a whirl and in mid-July I ventured away from the daily routine of work, go home, watch "I Love Lucy" re-runs and just do nothing. Instead, I chose to get off my lazy carcass, begin writing with a purpose and in the process let the imagination roll like a slab of Russian thistle running across Route 66 in Holbrook, Arizona. While meeting various writers like Kim Cross kept me in a state of awe, it was a can of Coors Light, the bed of a Ford-250 and a dark foreboden night outside of the Archer City limits where things slowly began to change.

Admittedly, at that time, and even moments before I got up on the flatbed, there were doubters including George. While in a drunken stupor, he did admit to my positive characteristics, yet felt I could not quite make it as a writer. The sting of that moment is still felt (we all need to keep an chip on our shoulders), but it enabled me to get on the flatbed and proclaim, "I know I am uptight, but what the hell, I have nothing to lose." While that was not as potent as the Gettysburg Address, it helped me, for the first time, feel free of any insecurities.

After the class, I continued exploring each fabric of the American roadside, but have not written anything as extensive as the pieces on the rancher and cemetery. However, I have written a thesis and continue to write about experiences across the highway. A good writer, regardless of the size of a piece, continues to perfect their craft. 

The roller coaster experience over the last couple of years has taught me one thing: there is still hope...still hope I find the spirit and carry it with me as I look to fly out of this dormant body and discover what lies beneath the American ethos.