Malcolm R. Campbell

Why do people ask this question?

It never occurs to me to ask Dan how he got into the insurance business at State Farm or Mary why she became an engineer for Norfolk Southern Railroad.

Usually, one thing just leads to another. But when I tell people that, they suspect I’m lying, that I’m saving the real story for my first trip into Oprah’s spotlight.

I've tried telling tales: I became a writer after lightning struck my typewriter while I was writing a book report for Mrs.Smith's (not her real name) high school English class, and then a voice said: MALCOLM, WRITE ME A NOVEL.

You may be surprised to hear this, but people look at me funny when I tell the typewriter and lightning story. In fact, that story is probably the main reason Oprah never calls, not even when she’s in town sipping whisky at Dan’s house talking about how he got into the insurance business.

When it comes down to it, my father was a journalist and a journalism teacher, so fate and/or plain bad luck trapped me in the family business. Unfortunately, I’m a very slow writer, so I learned early on that working as a reporter was darned well an impossibility.

Like as not, I’d still be typing "Aliens abducted three people here to day when a BORG space ship stopped at the Shell Station on Main Street..." long after the story is already old news, when Oprah’s already asking, "So, how’d you people come to be a collective of zoned out space people anyhow?"

Then I tried teaching others how to write leads like that, only faster.

As it turned out, I have zero respect for authority and that made it somewhat difficult in the teaching biz where somebody is always saying, "Malcolm, years ago, old lady Smith created the English 101 syllabus and nobody’s complained about it before."

I should have said, "Of course not, they all slept through it." Instead, I have a feeling that my rather huffy "screw old lady Smith" comment might have been one of the reasons why the college administration never put me on a tenure track at that institution.

Since one thing leads to another, I left college teaching and ended up here in cyber space telling you about it at this very moment. I’d like to try and convince you that lightning struck either my typewriter or that syllabus, or possibly that aliens are responsible for my becoming a writer.

Oprah might love it, but I don’t think you’re going to buy it. So, it’s best not to ask.