by GREG NIKKEL, of the Weyburn Review
Ever since I discovered a love for writing, at the grand old age of 10 or 11 while in Grade 5, I've had a desire to write really good stories. This love of writing was fostered by my teacher at the time, Miss Fischer, (and later, by my English teacher in high school) and was coupled with a love for reading.
I'm convinced that the two go hand-in-hand: to be a good writer, you must be an avid reader. Depending on the type of writing you do (whether as a journalist, novelist, poet or historian), your reading materials will probably reflect your interest in what you'd like to write.
For myself, I've always had a desire to write a novel of some sort, and this is fuelled everytime I read an exceptional piece of work. This past year, one of those writers who have given me food for thought was Weyburn's most famous native son, the late, great William Ormand Mitchell. I read his seminal work, Who Has Seen The Wind, the unabridged version, not long after his death earlier this year.
All through this year, things have popped up once in a while that reveals more about his character and his stories, and the love people had for him and his writing. For example, at the Wheat Festival in August, his son and daughter-in-law were on hand to give some readings of W.O.'s work and share a few memories about him. Earlier, the Weyburn Writers Group hosted a memorial to him, where various people did readings and some of W.O.'s family here in Saskatchewan were on hand to share some of their recollections.
When Joe Clark stopped by here recently during his campaign leading up to the vote for the leadership of the federal P.C. party, he shared a story about Mitchell. Clark's family lived just up the street from the Mitchells when they lived in High River, and one day this photographer showed up from Mitchell's publisher to take a photo for his book, Who Has Seen The Wind.
The photographer (probably at the request of the publisher) insisted that W.O. have a pipe for the photo, even though W.O. didn't even own one. W.O. ran up the alley to Clark's father's place, and borrowed a pipe from him; so if you ever come across one of the first editions of the book, where the jacket photo shows W.O. with a pipe, you'll know where the pipe came from.
Anyway, at the recent library book sale, I went in near the end while people were packing up the remaining books in boxes, and I found a W.O. Mitchell book, How I Spent My Summer Holidays, published in 1981 or '82. I couldn't believe one of W.O.'s books could have been there for three days of a book sale, when readers come out by the score and walk away with whole boxes worth of reading materials (I bought a boxful myself), but there it was.
After hearing the many stories about him, and watching a biographical film about him put out by the National Film Board (available at our local library), I can get the feel for how he wrote to a certain extent. This makes me appreciate him all the more as a great writer, and has shown me something else: being a keen observer of the world around you also helps make one a good writer. Noting minute details, and interpreting them into word-pictures that fill the imagination, is an important part of a good narrative.
Now, if I ever do get to write a book, it'll have to be in my own voice; I can't try and copy someone else's style, whether it's W.O. Mitchell, or William Faulkner, or Robertson Davies, or Tom Wolfe or Isaac Asimov. It has to all be my own vision, my own way of writing. If I can do that well, to write a book that someone would want to curl up on couch with, along with a fresh cup of coffee, to read on a quiet Sunday afternoon (as I will be with my new Mitchell book), then I will have accomplished something.
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