"The lifespan of a sterotype depends upon its social utility."
The Writer looked at the opening sentence. Not bad, The Writer thought, Not bad at all. A bit pedantic, perhaps, but that's the style most of the journals are interested in. The Writer marveled at the opening sentence for several minutes, noting that it was pithy, succinct and, quite possibly, original, and gradually came to the realization that adding five or six sentences like it would mean creating the perfect opening paragraph.
Mind reeling, The Writer withdrew to the kitchen, made a ham and cheese sandwich and some coffee, and had lunch.
After lunch, The Writer returned to the work at hand, but found the opening sentence far less satisfying. Stereotype? The Writer asked himself, What kind of stereotype? Is there really a direct relationship between lifespan and social utility, or are other factors involved? Just what the hell did I mean by social utility, anyway? Will anybody understand what I'm trying to say? WHAT AM I TALKING ABOUT?
The Writer grabbed the top sheet of paper and tried tugging it out of the machine. After three or four tries, The Writer was finally successful. While fully aware that this method of removing unsatisfactory prose from the typewriter might damage the machine's carriage, The Writer found the action addictively enjoyable, and not only kept doing it, but purposefully made mistakes to have an excuse to continue doing it.
"The lifespan of an artistic stereotype may depend upon its..."
Its what? The Writer tried to find a simpler way of stating the idea of social utility, fialed, and wrote the term down again. Well, that changes everything, the Writer thought. Then, realizing that the word utility had been spelt "utiilty," The Writer broke out the liquid paper and corrected the error. The Writer's mind briefly wandered back to the evening before, causing The Writer to smile. But, the work, sitting in the typewriter, silently demanded attention.
Alright, The Writer thought, This will do until a better opening sentence comes along. What next? The Writer spent the next half hour alternating between formulating approaches to the material and childhood memories. While the latter effort was more entertaining than the former, neither resulted in advancing the immediate purpose. Oh, no! The Writer panicked, Have I blown my intellectual wad in the opening sentence?
Panic is a not uncommon condition for writers, fuelled by the two questions, "Will what I am doing be appreciated and/or enjoyed?" and "Does what I'm doing have any ultimate purpose or meaning?" In fact, self-doubt is an inherent part of most writers' personalities; after all, only a person unsure of the value of his or her original thoughts and creativity would need to commit them to paper.
So, to panic. What am I doing? The Writer thought, banging futilely on the keys of the now dead electric keyboard. How did I put myself in this ridiculous - absurd, even - position of having to come up with 5,000 original words a month? For money?
Unlike so many others, the correct answer to this question was immediately forthcoming. Seven months earlier, The Writer had submitted an article on "The Image of Penguins in the Mass media" to the Journal of Mass Communications and Large, Flightless Water Fowl on spec. (Writing on spec, that is, on speculation or without a specific assignment, conjures up ugly visions in the minds of most people; but, if you have a strong passion for large amounts of rejection, it is a not completely unpleasant way of passing the years.)
Much to The Writer's surprise, the essay was enthusiastically received, and The Writer was encouraged to write more. Hence, the present dilemma. One can only write so much on large, flightless water fowl before one's writing becomes derivative...formulaic...unsaleable. What to do?
The Writer removed the second sheet of paper, carefully this time, and replaced it with a pristine sheet. "The lifespan of an artistic stereotype," The Writer began anew, "depends upon the ratio of the number of barbers to the height of the hem line in a given society." No, that's right out, The Writer thought, but set the idea aside for future use.
Then, an inspiration: let's define our terms! Of course! Definitions can go on for pages, don't require a great deal of original thought and can look like impressive research. Smiling, The Writer started explaining what was meant by an artistic stereotype...then, barbers...by the time The Writer got to the height of the hem line, it became apparent that the opening sentence had not remained set aside, and that serious essay would require yet another first page.
The Writer threw a few definitions together, added some paragraphs about the role of the individual in society, reviewed some pertinent literature and summed up the arguments for and against the thesis that media images affect real world behaviour. Three hours later, the essay was complete. Wow, The Writer thought, That wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. In fact, it was fun. Still fun.
Now, I better call home and find out what the emergency was.
