"Why Can't I Write Like Dave Barry?" - Preflatish
"Why can’t I write like Dave Barry?"
by Carol Preflatish
(originally published in the e-zine, "Inside the Mind of a Crazed Writer" by Klocke Publishing)
Okay, I admit it. I had never heard of Dave Barry until that sitcom about him was
on television in the 90's. I remember watching that show and thinking how cool it would
be to be a writer, lots of money, always meeting deadlines, and never at a loss for an
idea. I could do that. I could write a humor column. After all, everyone always told me
how funny I was. I could write like Dave Barry.
So, there I sat at my trusty typewriter with its new ribbon and clean sheet of
paper inserted. I was ready to compose my first humor article. Five minutes later,
I was still sitting there with that same sheet of paper. What happened to that endless
stream of ideas that Dave Barry always had?
The house was too quiet, I decided. I turned on the radio and sat back down. I
soon realized I was paying more attention to the radio than the task at hand. I turned
the radio off and put on a cassette tape for some background noise. Nope, that didn’t
work either. I found myself singing along instead of writing. I sure don’t remember
seeing Dave Barry have trouble like that in his show.
Finally, after eating my lunch I came up with an idea for a humor piece. I was going
to write about an incident that happened during my student teaching in college. I started
typing. Oops, I made a typo. Now, where was my eraser? I just saw it. Just as I found it,
the phone rang. It was my mother. Phone conversations with Mom almost always lasted a
long time.
An hour later, I had finished my phone call and now knew all the news and happenings
of our family and friends. I finally managed to get one page typed. I put in a new sheet
of paper and was ready for page two. Then, someone knocked at my door. Interruptions!
I bet Dave Barry didn’t get interrupted like that.
My concentration was shot. I was thirsty and needed something to drink. A few hours
later, I had finished cleaning off my desk, dusted the typewriter, and had put something
out to thaw for supper. I headed back to the typewriter, sat down and began typing. I
was on a roll. The words flowed and I was typing my heart out. Then, it happened.
The front door opened and in walked my husband with flowers in one hand, a bottle of
wine in another, and a smile on his face. You guessed it; I never finished that humor
piece. Now, I know that never happened to Dave Barry on that television show. The censors
would have never allowed it.
So, I sit here today wondering if I will ever become a humor writer. I think back
a few years to the memories of my daughter growing up and a smile comes across my face.
I could write like Dave Barry, maybe.