Feb 2012 Jan 2012 Nov 2011 Oct 2011 Sep 2011 Apr 2011 Jan 2011 Dec 2010 Nov 2010 Oct 2010 Sep 2010 Jul 2010 Jun 2010 May 2010 Mar 2010 Feb 2010 Jan 2010 Dec 2009 Nov 2009 Oct 2009 Sep 2009 Jul 2009 Jun 2009 May 2009 Apr 2009 Mar 2009 Feb 2009 Jan 2009 Dec 2008 Nov 2008 Oct 2008 Sep 2008 Jul 2008 Jun 2008 May 2008 Apr 2008 Mar 2008 Feb 2008 Jan 2008 Dec 2007 Nov 2007 Oct 2007 Sep 2007 Jul 2007 Jun 2007 May 2007 Apr 2007 Mar 2007 Feb 2007 Jan 2007 Dec 2006 Nov 2006 Oct 2006 Sep 2006 Jul 2006 Jun 2006 May 2006 Apr 2006 Mar 2006 Jan 2006 Dec 2005 Nov 2005 Oct 2005 Sep 2005 Jul 2005 Jun 2005 May 2005 Apr 2005 Mar 2005 Feb 2005 Jan 2005 Dec 2004 Nov 2004 Oct 2004 Sep 2004 Jul 2004 Jun 2004 May 2004 Apr 2004 Mar 2004 Feb 2004 Jan 2004 Dec 2003 Nov 2003 Oct 2003 Sep 2003 Jul 2003 Jun 2003 May 2003 Apr 2003 Mar 2003 Feb 2003 Jan 2003 Dec 2002 Nov 2002 Oct 2002

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