CAR WAX AND CROCHET

Over the weekend, my family and I went to the Thunder on the Plains auto show here in Levelland. I love cars, and it’s a shame that I don’t know more about them.–something that I’m currently trying to change. Nevertheless, we saw a bunch of really cool classic cars, many of which I didn’t even know had existed.

Being at a car show, all the examples were in pristine condition (as far as I could tell). They all had sparkling paint jobs–paint so rich it looked wet on the metal. The engines seemed like they were straight out of the plant and their interiors emanated the smell of Armor-All or leather conditioner from their open windows in the August heat.

(For birthday gift ideas, there was a Chevrolet Apache that was absolutely gorgeous.)

Here in Levelland, Thunder on the Plains a sign that summer is closing down and school is arriving soon. Walking amidst the cars, I see my fellow teachers and future students, and we have a silent acknowledgement that the days of jeans and t-shirts are passing through the sieve.

But, it’s all right. I really don’t mind the thought.

I’m a creative writing teacher (please don’t hold this blog as an exemplar), and every fall I get a batch of students who either have been writing for the past few years, or who were placed into the class for lack of a suitable course for them at that time of the day. But, it seems that those two classifications tend to dissolve soon, and by the end of September, I see two new, different, groups take shape: those who care about perfecting their work, and those who care about finishing their work.

The first group works to make sure the poem (or short story, play, etc.) is the absolute best they can make it. They realize that creative work that stands the test of time also requires time–time spent creating, revising, re-reading, re-revising (ad nauseum), and then finally publishing.

The second group works to make sure the poem (or short story, play, etc.) is finished in the absolute fastest time possible. Revising is a sin, and RE-revising is travesty. To suggest that they rewrite is almost offensive. I would like to blame today’s instant gratification trend, but I also think that a lot of folks look at a “simple” poem and think to themselves, “There’s only 45 or 50 words there…how long could it take?” So, they sling one down onto paper and call it good. The problem with his approach is that the result is usually a fairly shallow, fairly thin work, something in which their lack of labor is obvious.

I think you can see which one I believe produces the better work. I consistently get better work from those people that are willing to refine the work–and refine themselves and their skills–in order to produce something that will hold up over the years.

It’s seeing those folks that makes teaching creative writing such fun.

At the auto show, I saw the fellow who owned the Chevy Apache. He was walking around the car, ever so lightly waving a long feather duster across the gleaming paint. It didn’t matter that–at least to my untrained eye–there was no dust to be seen on the pickup’s sheet metal. The owner knew of work that needed to be done. He cared for his work to be as flawless as possible.

Even if no one else knew about all the effort, he would know.

Now, I don’t claim to be as good a poet as this guy was an auto restorer, but I do know that my work is never finished, never good enough–and I have a whole notebook of failures that lurk, waiting to be perfected (or at least polished…well, maybe just made presentable.)  And, I don’t think I’ll ever develop the necessary grit (or resources) to restore a car, but I do know that watching someone down deep in the midst of refining their craft is fascinating.

I like to imagine listening to a couple of car restorers talking over a couple of coffees the benefit of one car polish over another, or a group of crocheters debating which type of stitch is better for an afghan blanket, or some painters discussing the merits of different style brush bristle materials. 

It’s the in-depth minutiae of a subject, the knowledge of the breadth and depth of the field that identifies the one who cares about the completed work as opposed to the one who merely completes.

It is the difference between the work that is forgotten and the one that your great- great- great- grandchildren read about in textbooks.

It is the difference between the good enough, and the just-plain-good.

I’m curious about your passions. If you have an interest, what are some of the details that one needs to know in order to perceive a work’s quality, or it’s test of time?

Let me know in the comments here or on Facebook.