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Novelist Thomas Steinbeck received a mountain of letters from his father, John Steinbeck. Over at The Hairpin, the son of the late Nobel Prize winning author talked about what he learned from these letters.

Follow this link to read a letter Steinbeck wrote about relationship advice. Thomas has written a number of books, most recently The Silver Lotus. Here’s an excerpt from the interview:

my father sent me this very long letter, and he had very tiny handwriting — he wrote by hand — and it was like an 18-page letter. It took me a week to decipher this thing, because of his handwriting, primarily. And when I got to the very end of it, I noticed at the very bottom, he said, “Son, I want to apologize. I would’ve sent you a note but I didn’t have the time!”

Meaning, that ultimately, the greatest amount of time in all writing is spent editing. My father said there’s only one trick to writing, and that’s not writing, that’s writing and rewriting and rewriting and rewriting. Like sculpture. I mean, the first thing off the top of your head isn’t the most brilliant thing you ever thought of. And then when you’re writing about it, when you want others to understand what you’re still talking about, then it really requires that you edit yourself really, really well, so that other people can comprehend it.

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I had the good fortune of meeting John Steinbeck’s son Thomas this weekend.  He said a lot of inspiring things that will eventually make their way into future blog posts, but his fans have so distracted me that I must first dedicate a post to them.

The first one who caught my attention was a sweet old lady who needed help walking and carrying her books.  I offered assistance.  Less because I’m nice and more because I like old ladies.  They’re like Yoda.  I’d hoped she’d share a nugget of wisdom that would alter my worldview into something more…peaceful.  She didn’t.

She ignored my outstretched arms and thrust her books at the event coordinator.  Why? Because this was the inroad to Mr. Steinbeck.  Not long afterward, I overheard my Yoda telling the star of the show that she knew someone who knew someone that lived on his dad’s old street.

“That’s an awkward introduction!”  I wanted to yell.  “You sound desperate!” But I had no supporters.  Every person around me was clambering to get a piece of the Pulitzer Prize winner’s son.

A grown man virtually begged for the phone number of the career-groupie in attendance (otherwise known as a Steinbeck biographer).  Is there anything more pitiful than stalking a stalker?  I soon discovered yes.  Because before long, some college-aged long-hair got in Mr. Steinbeck’s face and waxed poetic about his undying passion for the cypress tree (the cypress tree, folks) and isn’t that a coincidence?  The word cypress appears in the title of Mr. Steinbeck’s first novel!

It depressed me.

I’ve been studying Buddhism recently because a major player in my novel misinterprets Eastern philosophies to tragicomic results.  Perhaps I will suffer her fate.  But for now, I hold dear a Buddhist teaching that has set me free:  the accomplishments of those you hero-worship are within your potentiality.

We’re all a little guilty of hero-worship.  I am obsessed with Kundera’s philosophical musings.  Nabokov’s unrelenting prose.  Guillermo Martinez’s conviction to thwart his characters’ goals to the brutal end.

Who do you hero-worship?  Why?  Now go accomplish it yourself!