Many novelists credit other authors for their own pursuit of a writing profession. More likely, and certainly in my case, the responsible party wasn't another writer, but a reader sharing his passion. I think most writers would agree: To muster the stamina, focus and fire to write, first one must be seduced by reading the written word.
I'd venture to guess most writers were introduced to recreational reading by a parent, teacher or favored relative. For me, it was my late father.
Growing up, I didn't see much of Dad. He worked two jobs, leaving at nine-thirty a.m. and returning home after midnight. I left for school while he was still asleep and went to bed before he arrived home. On weekends we spent our time together, and it was quality time.
Mid-week or so, I would often awaken to a warm reminder that although I may not have seen him for a few days, I did, indeed, have a father. And a special one at that.
Sitting on the bookshelf opposite me as I write are twenty-seven hardcover Hardy Boys novels, the same ones I would periodically find wrapped in brown paper on the night stand beside my childhood bed. These are the survivors, some still with the dollar twenty-five price stickers affixed to their dust jackets.
My dad left them for me to find when I awoke. The wrapping enhanced my thrill of discovery: Which one was it? Footprints Under the Window? The Secret Warning? The Twisted Claw? The mystery, you see, began before I even laid eyes upon the book.
I learned much from those novels, things which remained deep in my psyche to be mined years later when I began writing short stories. I experienced the tingling, cozy feeling a book, particularly a mystery, could instill in a person tucked away in a warm bed on a cold night, a circle of reading light the only illumination in the room. Nothing better than that.
I realized a novel's protagonist should be someone the reader liked, related to, maybe wished to emulate. He should be, as Frank and Joe Hardy were and remain today, pure of motive and sympathetic. Too many contemporary protagonists are distinguishable from the bad guys merely by point of view or Hollywood casting: The big name star the good guy, the second stringer the bad guy, their actions interchangeable.
Most authors write for selfish reasons: It's therapeutic and incredible fun. So maybe we shouldn't be credited with inspiring others to write. Instead, look to that personal hero who introduced you to the written word.
I've experienced a lifetime of pleasure, excitement and sanctuary from reading. Perhaps now, thanks to my dad, I'll provide some of the same to others.
Who introduced you to recreational reading?
Editor's Note: Lou Manfredo served in the Brooklyn criminal justice system for twenty-five years. His first book, Rizzo's War, was published in September.
