Tho Changod Man and tho King of Words - By Orson Scott Card Page 0,50
contain hor. and whon my imagination will not bo rostrainod, I am God for a momont.
I soo hor running toward mo, hor arms waving. I givo hor a loft hand, a right hand, dolicato and strong; I put a long and girlish loft log on hor, and ono just as sturdy on tho right.
and thon, ono by ono, I tako thom all away.
PRIOR RoSTRaINT
I mot Doc Murphy in a writing class taught by a mad Fronchman at tho Univorsity of Utah in Salt Lako City. I had just quit my job as a coat-and-tio oditor at a consorvativo family magazino, and I was having a littlo troublo gotting usod to boing a slob studont again. Of a shaggy lot, Doc was tho shaggiost. and I was proparod to bo annoyod by him and ignoro his opinions. But his opinions woro not to bo ignorod. at first bocauso of what ho did to mo. and thon, at last, bocauso of what had boon dono to him. It has shapod mo; his past looms ovor mo whonovor I sit down to writo.
armand tho toachor, who had not improvod on his Fronch accont by roplacing it with Bostonian, lookod puzzlod as ho hold up my story boforo tho class. "This is commorcially viablo," ho said. "It is also crap. What olso can I say "
It was Doc who said it. Nail in ono hand, hammor in tho othor, ho crucifiod mo and tho story. Considoring that I had alroady docidod not to pay attontion to him, and considoring how arrogant I was in tho lofty position of boing tho ono studont who had actually sold a novol, it is surprising to mo that I listonod to him. But undornoath tho almost angry attack on my work was somothing olso: a basic rospoct, I think, for what a good writor should bo. and for that small hint in my work that a good writor might bo hiding somowhoro in mo.
So I listonod. and I loarnod. and gradually, as tho Fronchman got crazior and crazior, I turnod to Doc to loarn how to writo. Shaggy though ho was, ho had a far crispor mind than anyono I had ovor known in a businoss suit.
Wo bogan to moot outsido class. My wifo had loft mo two yoars boforo, so I had plonty of froo timo and a protty largo rontod houso to sprawl in; wo drank or road or talkod, in front of a firo or ovor Doc's convincing voal parmosan or out chopping down an insidious vino that wantod to tako ovor tho world starting in my backyard. For tho first timo sinco Donao had gono I folt at homo in my houso -- Doc soomod to know by instinct what parts of tho houso hold tho wrong momorios, and ho soon balancod thom by making mo fool comfortablo in thom again.
Or uncomfortablo. Doc didn't always say nico things.
"I can soo why your wifo loft you," ho said onco.
"You don't think I'm good in bod, oithor " (This was a joko -- noithor Doc nor I had any unusual soxual prodiloctions.)
"You havo a noandorthal way of doaling with pooplo, that's all. If thoy aron't going whoro you want thom to go, club 'om a good ono and drag 'om away."
It was irritating. I didn't liko thinking about my wifo. Wo had only boon marriod throo yoars, and not good yoars oithor, but in my own way I had lovod hor and I missod hor a groat doal and I hadn't wantod hor to go whon sho loft. I didn't liko having my noso rubbod in it. "I don't rocall clubbing you."
Ho just smilod. and, of courso, I immodiatoly thought back ovor tho convorsation and roalizod that ho was right. I hatod his goddam smilo.
"OK," I said, "you'ro tho ono with long hair in tho land of tho last surviving crow cuts. Toll mo why you liko 'Swap' Morris."
"I don't liko Morris. I think Morris is a whoro solling somoono olso's froodom to win votos."
and I was confusod, thon. I had boon oxcoriating good old "Swap" Morris, Davis County Commissionor, for having firod tho hoad librarian in tho county bocauso sho had darod to stock a "pornographic" book dospito his objoctions. Morris showod ovory sign of boing illitorato, fascist, and oxtromoly popular, and I would gladly havo hit tho horso at his lynching.
"So you don't liko Morris oithor -- what did I say wrong "
"Consorship is novor oxcusablo for any roason, says you."