Like a Kid in a Candy Store

By Keith Fisher

When I was a kid, we often rode our bicycles to Woolworth's department store. It was about two miles away and the closest place where we could get penny candy. In those days (the late nineteen-sixties), we could get several pieces of candy for one penny. The candy was similar to the stuff we distribute for Halloween, but there were other, more delicious choices.

Pixie Sticks to Bit-O-Honey and Jawbreakers. Licorice Whips, and Sugar Daddy. All for a penny, some of it was five for a penny. The candy bars we pay seventy-five cents for today cost a nickel then, and soda pop was ten cents.

Yes, it was a wonderful time to be a kid. We could go to the store with the dollar we earned from picking cherries and come home with a bag full of candy and change to boot.

I was reminded of that magical time the other day, while I lounged in an armchair in the public library. I looked up from my research and noticed the stacks of books in their racks, lined up like soldiers and extending into the next room. When you add the fact that there is three floors of those books . . .

It’s not that I never noticed it before but I was re-awakened to the thrill of it all. There are thousands of books that I can read. I was struck with the simile of the candy store. Like when I was a kid perusing the shelves and bins trying to decide which morsel of candy to buy, I looked at all those books and realized I could never, ever read all of them in my lifetime, and the collection keeps increasing daily. Just like a bag of candy, I can check out stacks of literature and take it home in my backpack.

I was also reminded of an old Twilight Zone episode. It was the one where Burgess Meredith escapes the holocaust and finds the library intact. He starts organizing the books into piles of books. Each pile representing days of the week. He planned to read his way through eternity—he sat down to begin, and accidentally broke his reading glasses.

He was in agony. He had all of those books, the time to read them, and no way to accomplish his goal. Do you ever feel like this? Books to read, stories to write, and so many things competing for your attention? Likewise with all the fiction in the world, we can only read one book at a time. We must choose which book warrants our attention.

Like the candy, with so many books to choose from, how do I pick? I can narrow it down by genre, LDS or not, even number of words, but in the end I am left with the same criteria that slush pile readers use to determine which manuscript is worthy of a second look. If the first few pages are poorly written, I must move on.

Something to think about when you choose which combination of words to use in the first chapter of your new book. Good luck with your writing, see you next week.

Reading, Writing, and Visiting an Old Friend

By Keith Fisher

Reading is life’s blood for a writer. There are a few who claim reading other people’s work stifles their own creativity, but most writers will agree that reading is one of the best ways to become a better writer.

To this end, I have an ever-growing list of books to read; books I’ve heard about, books written by people I know personally, books written in my chosen genre. There are reference books, non-fiction books, and research, not to mention the magazines.

With so many things to read, and limited time to do it, I’m selective. I read the first lines, perhaps the first chapter of something and if it doesn’t grab my attention, I move on, vowing to come back and finish reading the rejected work, but somehow I never get back.

The pile of rejected books in my library caught my attention the other day. In the pile, there were great books, some by neglected writer friends. Some were manuscripts I promised to edit, others were books that should be thrown out (I can never bring myself to destroy the printed word). Anyway, I think I need to follow the example of Bill Gates. I’ve heard that he makes a stack of things he wants to read then he takes a couple weeks in retreat and does nothing but read from the stack.

Since I don’t have a retreat in Seattle, or the time to take off, I better stop adding to the pile. I need to read everything and help edit the works of those who have helped me by reading my stuff. I can’t take time to savor anymore—I need to read faster.

Okay, you caught me, I know I’ll never catch up, but maybe I can prioritize. I’ll just make more stacks and stop adding to them . . . you see the problem don’t you?

When I looked at my stack again I found an old friend. It was my missionary copy of the scriptures, dog-eared and used with torn pages, some pages with holes, all with hand written notes on them. I once called those scriptures my most valued possession.

I use new scriptures now, but they don’t fall open at the slightest touch of my hand like the others. Passages don’t seem to be in the same places, and I fight the pages trying to find what I’m looking for.

Perhaps there’s a metaphor here, but I’ll let you decide what it is. Tonight, I’m going to visit an old friend. Good luck with your writing and I’ll see you next week.