The "aching urge" to write

John Steinbeck

Novelist John Steinbeck once wrote, "The formula seems to lie solely in the aching urge of the writer to convey something he feels important to the reader."

We write, I suppose, for the same reason we talk — because we think we have something to say. Steinbeck uses the phrases "aching urge" and "something he feels important." These phrases seem to raise the stakes. They suggest that we feel compelled to say what we have to say. And it's not just important to us. It's important to others, as well.

This caused me to think about the various kinds of writing I have done in my life. Are Steinbeck's words true in these instances?

School essays and reports — What was most important here was the grade. The aching urge was more about satisfying the teacher or professor — producing the 100 words or eight pages or whatever was required by the assignment.

News stories — I was a newspaper reporter in my early professional life. Importance was a required for anything printed as news. The most important stories went on the front page and got a byline. But even minor inside stories were expected to have some importance to someone. The "aching urge," quite frankly, probably had more to do with keeping my job.

Editorials — I was an editorial page editor for much of my career. I wrote opinions, which in most cases were manufactured opinions. That is, I had to manufacture feelings about things I would not have otherwise cared much about. The best editorials I wrote, however, were those for which I felt Steinbeck's "aching urge."

Columns — I wrote many columns over the years, mostly book reviews but also columns of a more general kind, including many that were intended to be humorous. Many of these I wrote simply because I had to write them, yet quite often they were very important to me and I felt like I had something valuable to say.

Blog posts — For the first time, beginning more than 15 years ago, what I wrote was entirely optional. I wasn't being paid. Nobody could fire me or flunk me. Steinbeck's formula began to make more sense to me.

Sermons — For the past few years I have tried my hand at writing and often preaching sermons. Again this is optional, and yet I find myself writing what I feel compelled from something inside me to write, saying what I sense is important for someone else to hear.

Over the years I believe my writing has actually improved as it has become less a requirement and more an aching urge.

Understanding each other

Jane Smiley

The death of the novel, if that is what is happening, may be more serious than we thought. Jane Smiley certainly thinks so in her book 13 Ways of Looking at the Novel, and her book was published in 2005. Things have not improved in the past two decades.

Novels have been around for only a few hundred years, just as widespread literacy has been common for only a few hundred years. Certainly human life has changed during this time, mostly for the better. Might the novel have had something to do with this? Smiley thinks so. Novels take us into the lives of other people, often people very different from ourselves. We occupy, however briefly, the minds of these people. Novels help us to better understand one another. If fewer people read novels, perhaps much of this understanding and empathy will be lost.

"If the novel has died for the bureaucrats who run our country, then they are more likely not to pause before engaging in arrogant, narcissistic, and foolish policies," Smiley writes.

"If the novel has died for men (and some publishers and critics say that men read fewer novels that they used to), then the inner lives of their friends and family members are a degree more closed to them than before," she writes.

And this affects women, too, for most of the novels they read are written by other women, thus depriving them of the male point of view.

"If the novel dies, or never lives, for children and teenagers who spend their time watching TV or playing video games, then they will always be somewhat mystified by others, and by themselves as well."

Do we really want to go back to a time before vast numbers of people — men and women, rich and poor, old and young — began reading Defoe, Dickens, Austen, Scott, Twain, Stowe and all the others and thus began to better understand each other?

What Pulitzer prized

Joseph Pulitzer, the newspaper publisher best remembered today for the prizes made possible through his legacy, often criticized his children, especially his sons, for their lack of ambition, for being spoiled by wealth.

Yet the old man himself, as described in Pulitzer: A Life in Politics, Print. and Power (2010) by James McGrath Morris, acted much the same way himself once he had made his fortune. He owned thriving newspapers in both New York City and St. Louis, yet in the latter half of his life he spent most of his time in Europe or at sea. He often left his family behind, but he took along many underlings who pampered him, read to him because of his poor vision and made arrangements for his comfort, such as by making sure his rooms were as soundproof as possible. He was sensitive to every stray sound.

As a younger man, however, Pulitzer made his great fortune through nonstop ambition. Although "accuracy, accuracy, accuracy" became his cry at his newspapers, he himself lied at will when it benefited his position. He lied frequently about his age as a teenager in order to get an early start on his career.

His editorial pages regularly blasted the wealthy class, the very people he mingled with and spent winters with at Jekyll Island.

He may have made his money in journalism, but Morris makes clear that Pulitzer's true love was politics. He had the misfortune, however, of being a Democrat in the post-Civil War years when Republicans won the White House every four years. He sought political office himself, both in St. Louis and New York, yet when he was finally elected to Congress, he quickly realized that a congressman had much less power than the publisher of a great newspaper, and he promptly resigned.

Another dark side to his personality came through his treatment of his younger brother. He regarded Albert as a hated rival, perhaps even more hated than William Randolph Hearst. While Joseph owned the thriving New York World, Albert owned the New York Morning Journal, which was not as successful yet was still too successful for his big brother. He once hired away Albert's entire staff.

Joseph Pulitzer may have been a great man. He just wasn't a very good man.

Breaking the rules

Peter Heller

"I'll try," Beckett lied.

Peter Heller, Burn

I have a few pet peeves when I am reading fiction, and one of these is illustrated in the brief line above from Peter Heller's novel Burn.

Back in the 1960s when I attended Ohio University, I took several creative writing classes. Among the lessons remembered from those classes are these two:

1. It is better to show than to tell.

2. Avoid such phrases as "he boasted," "he implied," "he questioned," "he proclaimed," etc. There may be many words that indicate speech, but it is best to stick with "said." Ordinarily a fiction writer should avoid using the same word too often, but in this case using "said" again and again works best because the word becomes virtually invisible. It does the job without calling attention to itself. Again, you should show, not tell.

Heller, like so many writers, violates both of these rules with the word lied. To be fair, the above line comes near the end of the novel, and the author lacks much opportunity to demonstrate that Beckett is lying. Yet there must still be other ways to avoid telling us outright that Beckett is lying:

"Beckett said with an obvious lack of sincerity." "Beckett said in a distracted manner." "Beckett said. though Jess didn't believe him" "Becket said, putting up a brave front." "Beckett said without conviction."

Heller, in my view, could have revealed Beckett's lie in a more sophisticated manner than simply telling his readers that he is lying.

2025 superlatives

While others who write about books talk about the best books of the year in December, I prefer other superlatives. This allows me to mention more books, including those I didn't necessarily like. Keep in mind that I am writing about books I read in 2025, not necessarily those published in 2025.

Most Enchanting Book: How could one not be enchanted by Shelby Van Pelt's Remarkably Bright Creatures? An octopus in an aquarium helps unite a woman with the grandson didn't even know she had.

Most Important Book: David Toomey's Kingdom of Play seems important to me because he shows that human beings are not the only creatures in this world who like to play,

Most Daunting Book: I enjoyed reading Jane Smiley's 13 Ways of Looking at the Novel. Even so, it took me forever to read because of its length, its complexity and that fact that it includes reviews of well over 100 novels, many of them obscure.

Wisest Book: These is wisdom to be found in Matt Haig's best-selling novel The Midnight Library. Haig explores the scientific theory that there may be alternative universes where each of us lives slightly different lives based on our choices. Perhaps our own universe may be the best one.

Most Familiar Book: The book Cinema '62 was not familiar to me, but its subject matter, movies released in 1962, certainly was. Stephen Farber and Michael McClellan make the case that 1962 was the best year for movies ever. It was also the year I began watching movies once or twice each week.

Most Incomprehensible Book: I'm glad I read John Baville's novel The Sea, but I confess I didn't really understand why the death of the narrator's beloved wife caused him to think about and write about other women.

Most Beautiful Book: The beauty of Small Things Like These lies partly in its brevity and simplicity. Clare Keegan sets her story in Ireland at a time when pregnant unmarried girls were not only forced to give up their babies but were also forced by nuns into virtual slavery.

Most Fearless Book: Kat Timpf says witty and fearless things on Gutfield! five nights a week. In You Can't Joke About That she insists there is absolutely nothing you cannot joke about.

Most Surprising Book: Imagine writing a book about the sounds of nature. Kathleen Dean Moore did that and produced the wonderful and surprising book Earth's Wild Music.

Most Unpleasant Book: Amy Helen Bell's Under Cover of Darkness take us back to wartime London when the crews of German bombers weren't the only ones killing people.

Most Luminous Book: I was captivated by Douglas Westerbeke's novel A Short Walk Through a Wide World about a woman who must keep moving to avoid becoming seriously ill.

Most Fun Book: Airplane! was a new kind of film comedy where the humor came from total seriousness. Surely You Can't be Serious by the same guys who made the movie takes us behind the scenes.

A game for readers (2025 edition)

Each year at this time I try to answer each of the following 12 questions as best I can using only the titles of books read that year. Here we go:

Describe yourself: The Great Alone

How do you feel?: Wandering Through Life

Describe where you currently live: The Sea (well, about a mile away)

If you could go anywhere, where would you go?: Into the Forest

Your favorite form of transportation: A Short Walk Through a Wide World

Your best friend is: The Innocent

You and your friends are: Remarkably Bright Creatures

What's the weather like where you are: The Weight of Winter (actually I'm in Florida)

What is the best advice you could give?: You Can't Joke About That

Thought for the day: You Are What You Watch

How would you like to die?: Under Cover of Darkness

What is your soul's present condition?: Spirit Crossing

Off the grid

Novelist Peter Heller is known for his superb outdoor adventures such as The Guide and The Last Ranger. He stays outdoors but takes off in a new direction in Burn (2024), a frightening view of the future.

Jess and Storey are longtime friends on a hunting trip in a secluded area of Maine, a state with many secluded areas. When they return to civilization they find that civilization seems to have evaporated. Town after town has been burned to the ground. Everyone seems to be trying to kill everyone else. The two men don't know one side from the other. Both sides seem to want to kill them.

Then they find a five-year-old girl and decide to try to return her to her parents, whatever the cost.

The novel often fails the believability test. Why would Maine, of all states, secede from the union? Why would either side want to destroy entire villages? Why would loving parents abandon their daughter? Once one puts such questions aside, the novel becomes compulsive reading.