Bird by Bird is a Reminder that Writers are Human,
and Humans are Flawed
Picture this: a man walks into Starbucks and he leaves because he is boycotting Starbucks, but then he walks into a bar, gets blackout drunk, then awakes in a bed with the sitting sleeping vice president tied to the bedframe and completely unclothed. What happened? What do you think happened?
If you’re a good writer, your mind may already be buzzing with excitement about all of the implications of political intrigue, of what the power dynamic has to say about greater society, of the obvious metaphor that the chains represent, and oh–the syntax, the glorious syntax and rhetoric and not to mention the endless intertextuality; you can’t forget the intertextuality; to forget about the important role that intertextuality plays in the influence of modern stories is to forget that there have ever been writers before, and to forget about the writers of the past is sacrilege where the scrolls of Tolstoy, Shakespeare, and Miguelle de Servantes are sacrosanct.
What? What’s that? Your mind hasn’t run amuck with the shadow of a sliver of a story that I’ve given you? You haven’t even begun to ponder about the effect of neoclassical authors on the post-post-post-modernist movement with a focus on parallelism. Some people may tell you the instinct is to tell you that you’ve brought shame upon your family and that you must ascend the walls of the pillars of Hercules on the solstice and proclaim your shame to the great colossus in the sky in the name of all that is free or else your ancestors will look down in disappointment for all of eternity, but that’s not the right way to respond to normal people doing normal people things, and if you act like this, you should be cast into the flaming pit. No one acts like that, not even really good writers, and if you do act like that, you’re lying, but if you’re lying, stop being weird; you’re making everyone uncomfortable.
If you’re a good writer, your mind may already be buzzing with excitement about all of the implications of political intrigue, of what the power dynamic has to say about greater society, of the obvious metaphor that the chains represent, and oh–the syntax, the glorious syntax and rhetoric and not to mention the endless intertextuality; you can’t forget the intertextuality; to forget about the important role that intertextuality plays in the influence of modern stories is to forget that there have ever been writers before, and to forget about the writers of the past is sacrilege where the scrolls of Tolstoy, Shakespeare, and Miguelle de Servantes are sacrosanct.
What? What’s that? Your mind hasn’t run amuck with the shadow of a sliver of a story that I’ve given you? You haven’t even begun to ponder about the effect of neoclassical authors on the post-post-post-modernist movement with a focus on parallelism. Some people may tell you the instinct is to tell you that you’ve brought shame upon your family and that you must ascend the walls of the pillars of Hercules on the solstice and proclaim your shame to the great colossus in the sky in the name of all that is free or else your ancestors will look down in disappointment for all of eternity, but that’s not the right way to respond to normal people doing normal people things, and if you act like this, you should be cast into the flaming pit. No one acts like that, not even really good writers, and if you do act like that, you’re lying, but if you’re lying, stop being weird; you’re making everyone uncomfortable.
Now, despite what some people may think, I was never like this because I am not an elitist scrunkle, nor was I ever quick to imagine anything particularly elaborate (or at least anything elaborate by my estimation) whenever I was given a morsel of a story, so I’ve never accepted the feeling that I’m a writer (at least a good one) despite the approximations of numerous other people. One of these such “people” is William Bernard Ejzak (otherwise known as the BALM king, Billy Boy by his parents, that nutjob communist indoctrinating our children by Mom’s for Liberty and by countless lonely little kids as father, and by millions as his little–known pseudonym William Shakespeare (yes, that William is the same as the William that teaches at Brooks (he is a thousand–year–old vampire))) has an earnest (mistaken) belief (misgiving) that I have potential. The man’s a fool, but an honest fool (good guy), so before school ended last year, despite all of my under-comings, violently kidnapped me and took me to his classroom wherein he showed me and Stephanie four books that he thought we’d like; after some shuffling between me and Stephanie because, although Mr. Ejzak has gotten significantly better at meeting my very picky literary needs, he is not a mind–reader and, thus, cannot predict my delicate taste in books, so he gave Stephanie a book I’d like and me a book she’d like. By how I remember it, the book I traded was Leaving Atocha Station by Some Nerd, but the other book that he diligently picked out for me was Bird by Bird, a thousand–paged spy thriller about political intrigue and fleeting romance that seeks to expose the underpinnings of society for their decrepit corruption.
I lied. Bird by Bird isn’t a particularly notable book, nor is it even a narrative–based book, but it was still a pretty good read (not phenomenal), and I’m glad I went through it. Right before I started reading it (which by then was when school started up again). I actually came to talk to Mr. Ejzak about it and how I didn’t want the book to preach to me, but the book doesn’t talk to me like it’s better, or at least it doesn’t intend to; rather, it’s candid instructional material on how to have a healthy writing career, and it’s not [that] boring. On the contrary, it’s engaging, quirky, and educating at the same time just like Mr. Ejzak’s classes.
The writer was born in California but moved to Chicago to pursue her writing career at UIC (just like a certain teacher at Brooks). A member of the baby boomer generation, she was active in the third wave feminist movement and a notable opponent of the Iraq war. She wrote many books you may have heard of such as Devils of Chapel Creek, The Saint Who Knew to Fly, Embers of the Sacred Plain, and Joanne’s Lament. Still, she didn’t have an easy time making her way through the writing world which is why she later started writing workshops wherein people interested in writing could have their work critiqued by her and their peers. It is in this context that Bird by Bird was born as a writing guide that would go down in the history books as the greatest book for prospecting writers in history. It is also in this context that Mr. Ejzak was born, coincidentally the same year that Bird by Bird came out.
I lied. Bird by Bird isn’t a particularly notable book, nor is it even a narrative–based book, but it was still a pretty good read (not phenomenal), and I’m glad I went through it. Right before I started reading it (which by then was when school started up again). I actually came to talk to Mr. Ejzak about it and how I didn’t want the book to preach to me, but the book doesn’t talk to me like it’s better, or at least it doesn’t intend to; rather, it’s candid instructional material on how to have a healthy writing career, and it’s not [that] boring. On the contrary, it’s engaging, quirky, and educating at the same time just like Mr. Ejzak’s classes.
The writer was born in California but moved to Chicago to pursue her writing career at UIC (just like a certain teacher at Brooks). A member of the baby boomer generation, she was active in the third wave feminist movement and a notable opponent of the Iraq war. She wrote many books you may have heard of such as Devils of Chapel Creek, The Saint Who Knew to Fly, Embers of the Sacred Plain, and Joanne’s Lament. Still, she didn’t have an easy time making her way through the writing world which is why she later started writing workshops wherein people interested in writing could have their work critiqued by her and their peers. It is in this context that Bird by Bird was born as a writing guide that would go down in the history books as the greatest book for prospecting writers in history. It is also in this context that Mr. Ejzak was born, coincidentally the same year that Bird by Bird came out.
At its core, this book focuses on two key pieces of advice on writing: first, stop being a loser, second, writers are people too (among other things).
First, the writer must be a functioning human being capable of executive action with a sleep schedule that functions. Don’t hesitate to start; remember, writers write, so if you’re doing nothing but laying around watching skibidi toilet and Family Guy funny moments, it is safe to say that you’re not doing writerly activities unless you are doing research about the decline of the internet to write a modern American gothic novel. At its core, writing is just another thing, and things must be done unless you want the brave new world of people that have been festering in your mind to die as your memory of them inevitably slips into oblivion like a volunteer in that good night.
You also have to stop pretending you’re too good for a healthy work–life balance because the entire works of Shakespeare were not written in a day. Now, have I followed this book’s advice? No, this review was written in too large of water and one long inadequate, breath. I have become dehydrated and purple and my head hurts like heck. I did not as Anne Lamott would say, take this report “Bird by Bird”; rather, I took this writing journal tiding of magpie by tiding of magpie. Should you follow this book’s advice? Yeah, why not?
Then, you must start living a life, an optional step because the life you currently live is probably enough since there is nothing remarkable about the lives authors lead, but you must still make observations and learn from the people around you how normal people act (or don’t) and how the real world works (or doesn’t) so that you can depict realistic scenarios (or not). Consider it the same thing as when a painter goes sightseeing for inspiration. And besides, everyone is part of the greater human story, after all, so what makes you think your writing is too dignified to include inspiration from your own very normal human life? There’s a reason people say life imitates art: we stand on the shoulders of giants, not only in the sense that all art takes inspiration from other art but also in the sense that all art, no matter how imaginatory, is grounded in the life experiences of people, and we’re still the same people we always were ever since we have risen from the mud.
First, the writer must be a functioning human being capable of executive action with a sleep schedule that functions. Don’t hesitate to start; remember, writers write, so if you’re doing nothing but laying around watching skibidi toilet and Family Guy funny moments, it is safe to say that you’re not doing writerly activities unless you are doing research about the decline of the internet to write a modern American gothic novel. At its core, writing is just another thing, and things must be done unless you want the brave new world of people that have been festering in your mind to die as your memory of them inevitably slips into oblivion like a volunteer in that good night.
You also have to stop pretending you’re too good for a healthy work–life balance because the entire works of Shakespeare were not written in a day. Now, have I followed this book’s advice? No, this review was written in too large of water and one long inadequate, breath. I have become dehydrated and purple and my head hurts like heck. I did not as Anne Lamott would say, take this report “Bird by Bird”; rather, I took this writing journal tiding of magpie by tiding of magpie. Should you follow this book’s advice? Yeah, why not?
Then, you must start living a life, an optional step because the life you currently live is probably enough since there is nothing remarkable about the lives authors lead, but you must still make observations and learn from the people around you how normal people act (or don’t) and how the real world works (or doesn’t) so that you can depict realistic scenarios (or not). Consider it the same thing as when a painter goes sightseeing for inspiration. And besides, everyone is part of the greater human story, after all, so what makes you think your writing is too dignified to include inspiration from your own very normal human life? There’s a reason people say life imitates art: we stand on the shoulders of giants, not only in the sense that all art takes inspiration from other art but also in the sense that all art, no matter how imaginatory, is grounded in the life experiences of people, and we’re still the same people we always were ever since we have risen from the mud.
Imagine something completely original that has not only never been thought of before but that is also comprised of parts that have never been experienced before, I dare you. You can’t, and if you say you can, you’re lying, and if you’re not lying, tell me your completely original idea and I’ll pay you a hundred dollars. You, and all other humans, can only imagine things that you have experienced before which is why it is impossible to visualize a genuine representation of the fourth dimension and not one grounded in visualizations of the third dimension. This is to say that you shouldn’t shy away from writing about normal people things (you’re not too good for that). Here’s your assignment for today: life your life and realize that the oh–so dignified art of literature is not too delicate to use your own life for.
Lastly, you need to listen to the voices, but only the good ones. Well, at least that’s what mother Anne says, but I disagree with her on this as shutting out negative thoughts is a great way of creating an echo chamber and giving someone ego problems, but I do agree that voices play a huge role in writing, but not the kind of voices that schizophrenia people hear; rather, I mean the voice you hear when you read. Whose voice are you using to read right now? Is it yours, is it mine, or is it some kind of amorphous voice coming from the shadows? If you have read my writings before or suffer the punishment of hearing my voice often, you may read this in my voice, and that may be the most optimal way to understand the intent in my writing through the cadence and tone of my real–life voice, but my writing doesn’t necessarily demand or compel anyone into reading it in my voice.
In stark contrast, however, anyone that has ever been graced with a witty conversation with Mr. Ejzak is almost immediately compelled read anything he writes in his voice with such vividity that he might as well be reading it directly to you. In fact, I have been blessed with hearing what tricks his voice pulls when combined with my writing, and anyone that has ever been blessed by a nonspecific secular deity to have him help with their personal statements will tell you how he reads everything with such dignity and purpose. This is why I have found it more useful to read what I write back to myself in his voice that seems to talk with a purpose instead of my voice that always seems to run out of breath at the end of a thought or thought at the end of breath. Some things are written to be read in different voices, so don’t be scared to imagine your writing in the voice that doesn’t belong to you because voices or manners of speaking aren’t yet copyrighted.
You have to realize that, though they may be skilled and writing is remarkable (and yes, writing is remarkable, as it gives people a sense of what it must be like to be a god), it must be stressed that writers are normal people, not gods, and, if you fancy yourself a writer, you must remind yourself that you have not been chosen by God to be his messenger on Earth. Now, hearing of this, woe must’ve come to the so–called gifted child for they too must put in the work that all other so-called normal people do because paper recognizes nothing but effort and life is not a multiple choice exam, but if you’re not one of those so–called nerds, you should be glad because this means anyone can write. Yes, even a French rat who learned to write from reading Shakespeare can write because writers are humans
In conclusion, Marxism be darned, Mr. Ejzak can suggest a book.
Lastly, you need to listen to the voices, but only the good ones. Well, at least that’s what mother Anne says, but I disagree with her on this as shutting out negative thoughts is a great way of creating an echo chamber and giving someone ego problems, but I do agree that voices play a huge role in writing, but not the kind of voices that schizophrenia people hear; rather, I mean the voice you hear when you read. Whose voice are you using to read right now? Is it yours, is it mine, or is it some kind of amorphous voice coming from the shadows? If you have read my writings before or suffer the punishment of hearing my voice often, you may read this in my voice, and that may be the most optimal way to understand the intent in my writing through the cadence and tone of my real–life voice, but my writing doesn’t necessarily demand or compel anyone into reading it in my voice.
In stark contrast, however, anyone that has ever been graced with a witty conversation with Mr. Ejzak is almost immediately compelled read anything he writes in his voice with such vividity that he might as well be reading it directly to you. In fact, I have been blessed with hearing what tricks his voice pulls when combined with my writing, and anyone that has ever been blessed by a nonspecific secular deity to have him help with their personal statements will tell you how he reads everything with such dignity and purpose. This is why I have found it more useful to read what I write back to myself in his voice that seems to talk with a purpose instead of my voice that always seems to run out of breath at the end of a thought or thought at the end of breath. Some things are written to be read in different voices, so don’t be scared to imagine your writing in the voice that doesn’t belong to you because voices or manners of speaking aren’t yet copyrighted.
You have to realize that, though they may be skilled and writing is remarkable (and yes, writing is remarkable, as it gives people a sense of what it must be like to be a god), it must be stressed that writers are normal people, not gods, and, if you fancy yourself a writer, you must remind yourself that you have not been chosen by God to be his messenger on Earth. Now, hearing of this, woe must’ve come to the so–called gifted child for they too must put in the work that all other so-called normal people do because paper recognizes nothing but effort and life is not a multiple choice exam, but if you’re not one of those so–called nerds, you should be glad because this means anyone can write. Yes, even a French rat who learned to write from reading Shakespeare can write because writers are humans
In conclusion, Marxism be darned, Mr. Ejzak can suggest a book.
