Eden Maxwell
April 29th, 2008How I became a writer is forever connected to the following experience,
excerpted in part here from my latest book–An Artist Empowered: Define and
Establish Your Value as an artist–Now.
THE GRAMMAR ENIGMA
“Teaching without teaching . . .” said the young Zen disciple. “Is that
truly possible?”
“Yes,” replied the master. “When the student learns without learning.”
There is more than one way to gain knowledge, and that insight alone is
enough to get things going. I sat in the class with what seemed an acute
case of acid reflux. This was English 101, and I was a college freshman. The
bushy bearded Professor Fulton had a reputation for being aloof and tough,
which spelled a major problem for me.
PROVIDENCE
For some unexplained reason, I couldn’t grasp English grammar. Somehow, I
had squeezed through high school with my grammar block intact. But now the
syntax was about to hit the fan. After a few classes, I saw the chalk on the
blackboard: this professor expected me to know grammar basics, which wasn’t
altogether unreasonable. He wasn’t sympathetic to my plight as my first and
second assignments came back with the F seal of disapproval.
I was certain that I would fail this course, and passing was a prerequisite
for graduating. Providence had other plans. A month into my freshman year, I
was in a serious car accident. The other driver had run a stop sign and
broadsided my tiny Fiat, which rolled over and over and over. I lost
consciousness after the third tumble. I woke up in a strange bed, a bed with
railings on either side. I was in the hospital. My doctor informed me I was
lucky to be alive and that there would be a long recovery.
“What about college?” I asked the doctor.
“Not this year, son.”
I leaned back against the pillow in total disbelief. I would have been
disappointed or even depressed, but the pain was my immediate problem. I
passed out-most likely from shock, and the news of losing my first year in
college didn’t help me, either.
SAME TIME, NEXT YEAR
Nearly a year later, I was back in English 101 with a new group of freshman.
This time I had the dapper Professor Edwards, who also had a reputation for
being hard on his students. It was inevitable. Before the end of the period,
the professor was handing back our first blue book assignment, a short
story, along with our grades. I had been dreading this moment, and here it
was. Professor Edwards walked along the aisles, handing the blue books over
to each student. I looked at him, and he looked at me with a gleam in his
eye. I stared at the cover of my blue book and saw something I had never
seen on one of my English assignments.
There it was in red pen-a glorious A for content, and alongside, an F for
grammar that reflected my lack of understanding the rules of punctuation.
But I already knew that. More important, he had acknowledged that I had
something to say.
DECIPHERING THE SEMICOLON
I remember leaving the English class, and as I walked across the campus to
my demanding biology course, a miraculous thing was taking place. I suddenly
began to understand where and why to place a comma in a sentence.
Punctuation marks and fragments of code swirled overhead like asteroids
around Saturn. I wasn’t thinking about punctuation; somehow, the rules of
grammar were surfacing into my awareness from some unknown abyss. By the
time I reached my biology class, even that ‘bane’ the semicolon made sense.
What had been a frustrating puzzle a mere hour earlier was now becoming
clear, with seemingly no effort on my part. The gates had opened into
grammar heaven, and this time I had my foot in the door. I knew I could get
grammar now.
Nothing could stop me! For future reference, this is the feeling you want to
remember whenever rejection appears and tries to write you off . . .
Getting a foothold inside the realm of grammar was something that moved my
story forward. Having some talent as a writer and the ability to see beneath
the surface of things, I felt that one day these attributes would lead me to
fulfillment if not riches.
WANDERLUST TO LA: YEARS LATER
My perfect superficial life had dissipated. I couldn¹t shake this feeling of
wanderlust. I wanted to write; I wanted to hang-glide; I wanted adventure.
She wouldn¹t budge to a new place unless she had a doorman, and I had a good
job waiting. I shed my job in public relations, the middle class trappings,
the wife, the doorman, and drove west to Los Angeles . . .
California beckoned. There, I would confront my character?life lessons I had
to discover for myself as a man, as a writer, as an individual who had
traded in the illusion of the American Dream for reality of life on ?the
razor¹s edge¹. In Los Angeles, I accumulated exciting and unique
experiences, as one would collect fine works of art. Among my adventures, I
became the editor of a magazine run by a playboy who threw in a new Corvette
as part of my compensation package.
After my first day on the job, I drove off in my muscle machine along Santa
Monica Boulevard and parked in front of the trendy boutiques that faced
Century City. I leaned against the gleaming cherry red sports car and
watched the late afternoon sun bathe the skyscrapers in a brilliant and
shimmering soft orange. I had everything: money, a girl, a car to reckon
with, and a plum job.
I could buy whatever I liked and I had chucked the corporate world to boot.
This was it. I was on top of the world. At least, it seemed that way in the
twilight as neon lights from the sidewalk shops reflected off the Corvette.
[After this episode as an editor, I became embroiled with an heiress; this
tumultuous experience eventually catapulted me to the right place in my
timeline to learn what I must learn.]
WILLIAM HOLDEN AND I
Leaving those many millions of dollars and a lifestyle so many would ?die¹
for in the hills of Hollywood wasn¹t easy. If left unchallenged, my ego
would have held on to the lurid lure of glitter. But, then again, I had no
choice in the matter. Because of various unstable characters in this drama
of mine, I sensed that I might end up floating face down in a swimming pool
like poor William Holden does in Sunset Boulevard?the film eerily traced my
own storyline as a writer.
——-
It is at this point that I met a great Zen master, a painter and writer who
would fill in the blanks; my journey of self-discovery with him would last
for another decade. Relative patience is a virtue.
Today, I write and paint knowing firsthand that an artist has no medium.
[Eden Maxwell’s new book, An Artist Empowered. is now available. For more about Eden go to www.edensart.com.