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From the President's Desk "You Should Write A Book" by Bob Bittner This fall I had the opportunity to participate in a book signing during my college's Homecoming weekend. I went to a small liberal arts college in suburban Chicago, and the school had invited about a dozen alumni authors to come and sign and sell their books. It was great to chat with so many other authors about their work. And it was especially fun to be on the front lines at the book-signing table. Not too surprisingly, I heard one phrase constantly from all of the folks who came up to talk with us: "You should write a book about . . . ." It's the one phrase all writers can expect when discussing their work with strangers. To the dismay of our "helpful" new friends, it's usually the last thing we need to hear. Most writers have no shortage of ideas they'd like to pursue. You might be tempted to roll your eyes whenever someone starts a conversation like that. Instead, consider what these folks are really telling us. "You should write a book about . . . " suggests that the written word continues to matter to these people. Some idea or story has resonated with them, and they think it's worth sharing. Not only that, they think putting it in print is an important way to enlighten and inform others. Books can change lives, they seem to say. The selfish secret that nonwriters fail to grasp, though, is that many of us don't write to change others' lives. We write to change ourselves. We write to explore topics that intrigue us and perspectives that baffle us. We write to learn. That was certainly true of my first book, Under His Wings, about the spiritual needs of the mentally disabled. Whenever anyone asks what led me to write that book, my canned answer is this: "My father was a Baptist minister, and my older sister is mentally retarded. The book was the natural coming together of those two parts of my life." That's entirely true, as far as it goes. The real answer is more complicated. The fact is that I'd long felt resentful of my sister's situation. Barbara is 10 years older than me. Growing up, I'd often thought of all the ways an older sister -- a healthy older sister -- could have encouraged and supported me through the years. I could have turned to her for advice and guidance -- heck, maybe even a loan every now and then. But Barbara wasn't able to fill that role. Yet I also clearly wasn't an only child; Barbara was a significant presence in our family. Maybe I could have benefited from counseling. Instead, I wrote about it. In the process, I had the chance to dig deep into the facts of mental retardation (a phrase I prefer to the more acceptable but wholly inaccurate "mentally disabled"), relive some of our family history, and gain some perspective on my own, admittedly self-centered perspective. From the letters and feedback I've received, I did end up helping others along the way. But I also helped myself. I like to think I became a better brother as a result of writing that book. One more story: After my wife and I moved to Michigan from suburban Chicago in 1994, I realized that, despite the advantages of a much lower cost of living and proximity to family, Michigan didn't feel like home to me. After asking myself how I could develop a better appreciation for the state, I decided to write about it. I read a news story about a nonprofit group that was planting trees in Detroit, establishing public green spaces that were helping to strengthen neighborhood communities. I got an assignment from Preservation to write about the group's work to bring life back to Detroit's devastated inner city. Their work was impressive, and the resulting article marked my first sale to Preservation. Researching and writing it didn't change my negative opinion of Detroit, but it did give me a greater appreciation for the losses that the city -- a city known in the 1950s as, incredibly, "the Paris of the Midwest" and "the city of elms" -- has endured over the last 50 years. Because we write for a living, we can't follow every path that intrigues us. I know I'm not the only freelancer with a drawerful of story ideas that captured my interest but couldn't sway an editor or publisher. But that's no reason to let your inner critic stop you from pursuing all of the other personal questions and significant issues that could find a market -- and could change your life in the process. Keep that in mind as you reflect on your work in 2007 and the opportunities that 2008 might bring. What leaves you scratching your head? What disturbs you or scares you? What gets your heart racing like a teenager in love? You should write a book about it. Bob Bittner, ASJA's president, lives in Charlotte, Michigan (which, for reasons unknown to him, is pronounced "shar-LOT"). Reach him at prez(at)asja.org
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