Meet The Writer
Meet The Writer
Day 2: CATALYST What made you become a writer?
In fifth grade, my classmate, David, was diagnosed with leukemia. As his disease progressed, he left school and began lessons at home. My teacher, Mr. Callahan, was a physically imposing, white haired man with a deep voice who all the younger students feared. We learned that he was actually a kind, gentle man who cared for his students and encouraged their nascent, budding talents.
It was not surprising then, Mr. Callahan encouraged us to send cards, pictures and letters, sharing news and jokes to keep David in our fold. I thought if I were sick at home, I would want to read. So, I wrote.
In one of the stories I sent David, I wrote about a dog who had many husbands, all different species of animal; iguana, cat, probably a fish or a bear in there somewhere, all of whom sadly perished. One day, by miracle, this dog had a puppy. Except it wasn’t just any puppy, it was a dog-guana-cat-bear-fish.
Mr. Callahan suggested that perhaps this wasn’t the right story, since it referenced death and that might be scary for a boy with leukemia.
I resisted my teacher’s attempt at censorship, the first of many occasions I would face, particularly later as a woman in the male-dominated automotive industry. David wrote back saying the dog-guana-cat-bear-fish made him laugh and was his favorite letter. It pleased me to have a gratified reader, and I learned an important lesson: people, even the most well-intended, will silence you for non-conformity. I think back on that now because I trusted my voice—even at the fledgling age of ten.
What made you become a writer?
This is the question all writers are asked. “Why do you do this?” I’m not always sure of the underlying question; Why do you do torture yourself with constant rejection? Why are you committing to a life of abject poverty? How are you so confident that anyone cares about you?
And then once in a while, someone genuinely wants to know why writers write because they genuinely admire books, and words, and those who make them. So if you’re one of those people, stick around.
When I first sat down to write this, I thought, there was no “catalyst.” I was born and now I write. Though I have been writing recreationally my whole life, it wasn’t until I quit my job at Mercedes-Benz in 2020, said goodbye to the corporate grind and applied to grad school. To be a writer. To write on purpose and trust the voice the demands of adult- and womanhood had smothered.
Catalyst
It has taken a couple years to step into the writer persona. For over a decade I was the “car girl,” working for auto manufacturers selling tires, and synthetic oil, and my dignity for male approval. To one day say, “Never mind! That’s not really me. This is me! I’m a writer, an artist,” felt phony.
I guess—just like anything else—we have to earn our credibility. I am a writer because I say I am, but whether you choose to accept that is based on me putting my money where my mouth is. If I’d asked David if he thought I was a “real writer” back in 1995, he wouldn’t have asked to see my CV of bylines.
I can be more than one thing at the same time. I can be an auto industry expert and a writer even if I have dissolved my participation in the industry. Not only can I recommend whether you lease a new car or buy a used one, I can just as easily discuss the required elements of novel and how to “save the cat.” With a few publications under my belt and 6 months from my Master’s, I can call myself a writer without that cringy feeling of imposter syndrome, while not abandoning the “car girl” to do it. The irony is I don’t need proof to know that I am a writer and always have been. It’s just how my parents made me, along with Type-P1 blood.
Always a writer
So was there a catalyst? My inner monologue has been prose since I was old enough to think and I’ve been reading books and consuming stories since I was born. Perhaps pursuing an overpriced degree with little to no ROI was what I needed to prove to myself that I’m a writer, an artist. And yet, when I am asked this question, I always think back to David, a shy little boy who laughed at my funny animals only five years before he died.
Robin and Joseph Kanarek founded the Kanarek Family Foundation, a non-profit, 501(c)(3) organization, in 2006 to honor the memory of their son, David, who lost his life to leukemia at the age of 15. The mission of the foundation, is to improve the quality of life for those effected by cancer and other serious, life threatening conditions through the promotion, education and integration of palliative and supportive care into all areas of healthcare.
Purchase Living Well With a Serious Illness: A Guide To Palliative Care for Mind, Body, and Spirit by David’s mother, Robin Bennett Kanarek.
Pennzoil Synthetic
Very engaging and poignant read.