Least Useful Writing Advice

 This morning, in browsing the internet, I came across Stacey May Fowles’ latest book.

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I loved Fowles’ novel Infidelity and so I was naturally curious and eager to read about her new book, which, in turn, led me to Stacey May’s answer to

 

What is the least useful writing advice you ever received?

You see, CBC Books runs a series titled Magic 8:

We ask our favourite Canadian authors for the questions they always wish they were asked. We put those questions into a hat, randomly pull out 8, and send them to other Canadian authors.

So it was writer Patrick deWitt who asked Fowles the question. This was her answer:

“Write every day.” There’s no better way to hate or become frustrated with a thing than to force yourself to do it when you just can’t or really don’t want to. I do think sometimes you have to work through writing difficulties but it’s also so important and necessary to take breaks when your gut tells you to. Sometimes simply not writing is actually good for your writing.

Fowles’ latest book? It’s about baseball.

Fowles is an avid Toronto Blue Jays fan and is editor of Best Canadian Sports Writing, baseball for Jays Nation and The Athletic, and is author of the popular weekly Baseball Life Advice e-newsletter. She has also won tons of writing awards.

Sounds like a fun read. Just in time for the baseball season.

Excerpt From Essay on Mourning

In 1950 Ray Brown, in search of a baseball team which would not discriminate against blacks, found one in the Sherbrooke Athlétiques, a provincial minor team which already had an impressive lineup of outstanding players. There was Silvio Garcia from Cuba , Claro Duany, who in 1997 was inducted in the Cuban Baseball Hall of Fame and their manager, Roland Gladu, who had played in the US major leagues.

Because of restrictions about blacks playing in the major leagues they were picked up by the minor leagues. These great baseball players came to Quebec and in particular Sherbrooke where they found no discriminatory restrictions. And for this Sherbrooke was rewarded. It got a team worthy of major league talent. And thus baseball became the game that everyone talked about. The stadium on Park Avenue was always packed and you could hear the roar of cheer for miles away.

My father would tell stories about how the black baseball players would come to his restaurant and he would talk to them about the game and cars. But it was Ray Brown, once pitcher for the Pittsburg Homestead Greys, a professional team that played in the Negro leagues in the United States, that my father most often spoke of.

I was only an infant when Ray Brown came to Sherbrooke to pitch for the Athlétiques but the story of how he brought the team to a championship in 1951 were legendary in my father’s memory. Years later, after the Sherbrooke stadium had burnt down and Brown had gone to play for a senior team in Thetford Mines, Quebec, there was still the spirit of championship that lingered in the fields of little leaguers.

When in February, 1965 Ray Brown died my father grieved over him as if he were his brother. It comforted me to know that my father could have such feelings for a black man for I knew that his prejudices were but a façade that could easily crumble.

I regret that my father didn’t live to see Ray Brown being inducted in the Baseball National Hall of Fame in 2006. He would have been proud and I would have heard all over again how the black baseball players would come to his restaurant and he would joke with them. Then he’d come home and talk about them and I would hear the wonderful sound of admiration in his voice.