I wrote my first RobZerrvations in high school. Well, I can admit it now, I only wrote one RobZerrvation in high school. Yes, many went to print when I was a junior, but none were mine.
It’s not that I didn’t try to write a monthly column. Each month, I would search my crazy brain for something to write about for ObZerrvations, which was the original name of my column. But I guess there’s really not much stimulus to draw from in your youth, for nothing would pass muster from the Hack.
No, I’m not talking about me, the Hack. I’m talking about Norma Hacker, my journalism teacher at Oliver M. Hazen High School. She’s the reason I am a writer to this day. I got my start in her class, writing for the Hazen Highlife, the school newspaper.
I didn’t always write humor. I wrote straight news and features, too. Oh, how easy would that be to just write a humor column and get an A. Wait. That happened in college at Green River Community College.
I’ll save those adventures for another day.
Nothing I ever wrote seemed good enough for Mrs. H. Lord knows, I tried. I would even work at it, not like today when I dash off a thousand words in about a half hour each morning. Back then, I would really slave away at the old typewriter, sometimes for an hour or more, writing, rewriting, polishing and re-polishing.
Every word to me seemed like pure poetry. To her, they must have been fingernails on a chalkboard.
Finally, in complete desperation, I headed for the Renton Library. It spans the Cedar River and was my favorite place to go when I was in high school. I would spend hours roaming the collections. I never had to go to the card catalog; I knew where every kind of book was by subject and type.
It didn’t take me long to find what I had been looking for. It was one of the more obscure groupings of books, humor. Amid the many classics by Twain, Buchwald, Cerf and other humorists, were fantastic collections of lesser known works by relatively faceless humor writers.
I spent about two hours reading through them, trying to find the perfect one to mirror in form or spirit. Today, I would call it plagiarism, but back then, I convinced myself that it was just for inspiration, this thievery. I took a couple of books home with me and set out on my trusty typewriter. Initially, the first of these ObZerrvations sounded a lot like me, but quickly became overshadowed by the more sinister tone of plagiarism. Before I knew it, I was pretty much copying everything word for word.
The following day, I handed my work into the editor. Wes, of course, couldn’t have guessed the source of my new found humor writing skill. But Mrs. Hacker was astounded when the paper came out. She couldn’t believe I had written such an amazing piece. Well, I hadn’t. I merely let myself be “inspired” word for word.
I figured no one would know. I made sure that the book I had pulled it from became long overdue from the library, stashed safely in my house so that no one at school could accidentally happen upon it.
Then one day, word came in that some of the Hazen Highlife writers would be showcased in the Seattle PI. These young cub reporters would have their articles published in the paper, complete with their photo. I was one of the lucky ones. Or should I say, unlucky.
That’s because Mrs. Hacker had decided to show off her little humor writer to the world. My highly “inspired” RobZerrvation was going to be reproduced by the tens of thousands. Obviously, I didn’t admit to my misdeed. I couldn’t. It would have ended my fledgling writing career before it even really started. I would be left with no career alternatives at all, except to work at the sales counter at Radio Shack. Oh, the ruin.
The paper came out. There for everyone to see was my column about the pitfalls of shaving. I don’t even think I needed to shave at that point in my life. I certainly didn’t have a morning routine that involved it or anything else hygienic.
My mother and the Hack were very proud. My mother bought a couple dozen copies of the PI to share with family and friends. She sent one to my grandma, who hung it on the wall in her kitchen. For a time, that special section was everywhere in my house. I couldn’t escape it. I’m just glad the Internet didn’t exist. Google would have outed me for sure in its search results.
Thankfully, no one noticed the appropriated work. I must have picked a very obscure author’s work to “pattern” mine after. Not a peep. No one at the PI or in the public murmured caught onto to my “approspriated” work of fiction. After a couple weeks, I finally took a big sigh of relief, realizing that I wasn’t going to go to jail after all.
I never felt “inspired” again. I started writing my own RobZerrvations the next year, my senior year, a stream of nonsense that came pouring out my head, much as it does today. Eventually, I continued to write them in college, and off and on throughout my adulthood.
I don’t really know what happened to that book. I hope it went back to the library. I’m sure some other budding writer with a taskmaster of a journalism teacher could use some inspiration.
In the Emerald City, making stuff up as I go along, wondering if someone out there is using this as “inspiration”,
– Robb