Susanna J. Sturgis: Writer • Editor • Martha's Vineyard




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	Return to Archives My Inner Right-Winger April 12, 2007 Some writers I know, when they get stuck they can just skip over the stuck place and proceed, then come back when they feel like it. Not me; at least not yet. In the weeks before I moved in late February, I reworked an extended scene that introduces a major Squatters' Speakeasy character, Whitman George Whipple III, the new editor in chief of one of the island's weekly newspapers. Whit Whippersnapper -- as he's called by his many detractors -- is in his midthirties, wears a tie to work, and probably has a bust of Milton Friedman on his bureau. In this introductory scene he is fixing to write an editorial about outrages perpetrated earlier in the week. Whit and I don't exactly see eye to eye; the authorial moi has considerable sympathy with said outrages. I was counting on having some fun at his expense. Trouble was, as the scene evolved, I started to empathize with the guy. He was a neo-journalist up against a non-negotiable deadline. Been there, done that; know the panic all too well. More disconcerting: when he carried on about "the muddleheads" -- what he calls a certain breed of affluent island liberals -- he seemed to be picking his words right out of my own head. I'd hoped to work part of his editorial into the scene but no matter how many tricks I tried to tease it out of my muse, it wouldn't come. When I closed the door, Whit knew what he was doing but I sure didn't. What the hell, I was still pleased with the scene. I went on. The next scene introduces another main character and the improv troupe that will play a significant role in the plot. The green ink was flowing, I was having a great time -- until Sigrid, one of the troupers, donned a star-spangled top hat and started to declaim lines from the editorial. Cool, I thought; she's gonna write the editorial for me. No such luck. She glared at me impatiently and hissed, "Line!" Which is what actors say in rehearsal when they're off-book and draw a blank. The stage manager feeds them a few words, they take it from there, and the play goes on. Sadly, this stage manager didn't have the words and the scene stalled in freeze frame. Moving and unpacking ~~got in the way~~served as pretty good excuses, but finally I sat myself down with pen, green ink, and notebook and said, "As long as it takes." It took a few days, but I did it. Earlier this week, persons unknown used two roadside signs for target practice. Several more signs were commandeered for someone's apparent art project. The police in the four affected towns -- Aquinnah and Chilmark were spared -- have thus far been unable to locate the perpetrators. We have confidence that they will, and soon. In the meantime we are perplexed and disappointed at the island's response to these acts of vandalism. . . . Whit was on a roll. He railed against the perps. Rather deftly (if I do say so myself) he accused the cops of incompetence, the other island newspaper of irresponsibility, and the muddleheads -- he didn't call them that in print, of course -- of cluelessness. Vineyarders would do well to rethink their admiration for the unknown perpetrators of these illegal acts. These criminals have been compared to Robin Hood, who, we are told, stole from the rich and gave to the poor. According to Robin Hood, the rich are invariably bad and the poor invariably deserving. Real life is more complicated. . . . The authorial moi was thrilled. Not only was Whit Whippersnapper rising to the challenge, he was showing every sign of being a worthy opponent for my ragtag guerrillas. Sigrid resumed her declaiming. The routine turned out to be pretty funny. Best of all, Whit's already received a letter enthusiastically supporting his editorial: Dear Mr. Whippersnapper, I am writing to thank you for your excellent editorial in this week's paper. It's about time someone stood up for integrity, honesty and respect for other people's property. What is the island coming to when we celebrate the common criminal? when we think vandalism is funny? With that big new contract the teachers got you'd think they could teach our children the difference between right and wrong! I for one, and I'm not afraid to sign my name, would be happy to give the vigilantes a taste of their own medicine. As good citizens, we need to band together and report any activity that looks suspicious. A message to the Robin Hoodlums, if you don't like it here, catch the next boat! Sincerely, William S. Pomeranian Whit has already obtained permission from Mr. Pomeranian's agent to use "Robin Hoodlums" in a future editorial. I'm looking forward to it.





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My Inner Right-Winger