I
Was a Middle-Aged Bingo Runner
“I was a middle-aged bingo runner,” I said.
There was a second of silence at the other end of
the line, and then Rita, returning to the previous topic, said, “I don’t
believe in writers’ block.”
“I didn’t believe in writers’ block
either,” I said, “until it happened to me.” I
want my creativity back! ““My bipolar depression just got the better of
me.“ Life
was so good when I could write!
“So will you join my critique group?” Rita
said. “I can help you with your writing.”
Three years ago, I was unemployed. I lowered my
standards and found a job as a bingo runner. Sister Mary Mary was my boss.
‘While the others are playing Bingo,” she
said, “you will circulate between the tables and sell lottery tickets. All the
proceeds go to our church, to help the poor.” I ran and ran, but Sister Mary
Mary still insisted that I wasn’t selling enough tickets. “Smile and joke
and convince them to buy dozens of tickets,” she said. “Look how the other
bingo runners do it. They’re much better than you.”
I looked around, but I didn’t see the other
bingo runners. I saw men in dirty jeans. Women holding babies. Rough faces and
bedraggled hair. I ran from table to table, taking rent money, babies’ milk
money, and diabetes medicine money. I sold so many tickets that I made the other
bingo runners look like aging turtles. Then, before I went home to soak my
middle-aged feet, I quit the job.
It was difficult to persuade Rita to hang up, but
I finally did it. What did she mean, “Lower your standards?” Lower my
standards of good writing, and misspell, mispunctuate? Lower my standards of
honesty, and lie? Lower my standards of ethics, and write porn? How could
lowering my standards end my writer’s block?
Oh, she must have meant that I should lower my
standards of intelligence, and write
about something stupid. What’s stupid? Being a bingo runner who takes from the
poor to give to the poor is stupid. Saying that you will improve someone’s
writing and then stifling your positive responses to what they write is stupid.
“Critique group? I don’t think so,” I
thought. I picked up a pen and began to write.
Back
To Top
Home Page
|