Page 3 - No 2

Hobo tingle

Vol.lNo.2 Spring 1988
Enall , I've got a handle. When someone says to me "And what do you do?"
y
Hobo Jungle is published quarterly . I can reply, "I publish a magazine." I don'_t have to say, "I'm a writer," and await
by Hobo Jungle, Rucum Road, Roxbury, the proverbial response: "And what have you written?" Nor do I have to answer
Connnecticut 06783. Telephone 203/355- (heaven forbid) that I'm a consultant. People understand when you say you're
8295. Ruth Boerger/Marc Erdrich,
publishers. All manuscripts will be con­ a publisher.
sidered for publication. Essays, fiction Soon, friends and acquaintances will forget that I once was a writer. They won't
and poetry should be typed and will not ask what I've written and I won't have to respond with an embarrass(,d, "Noth­
be returned·. Good quality photocopies ing you've read, I'm sure." Or if they ask, "Exactly what do you do as a consult­
are acceptable. Simultaneous submis­ ant?" I won't have to engage them in a long conversation about computers.
sions are okay. Musical scores and
artwork will be returned; however, Writers spend a lot of time being misunderstood. I think that's becaus.e, realis­
please enclosed a S.A.S.E. with your tically, people judge writers by how much they've written. Yet, anyone who.
submission. Hobo Jungle is distributed writes knows it's not what you've written, but where your heart is that deter­
free and does not accept subscriptions. mines who is and isn't a writer. I have an acquaintance who, after about a year
Please write for a list of locations where of work, produced a successful novel. He has been working on a second novel
you may obtain a copy. for 10 years, and when I last asked him how it was coming, he said, "It's going
© 1988 Hobo Jungle well, but there are days when I am happy to write one complete sentence that
I can live with." His friends consider him a failure.
I often wonder why it is I call myself a writer. I have been a journalist on and
off during the past 25 years. I've even resorted to (strike me dead) writing copy
when the going has been rough; but here I'm not talking about journalism, I
mean the real stuff. I've yet to publish a work of fiction -outside of this publi­
cation. I resist sitting down at the typewriter at any cost. My output is relative­
ly slim. Yet, in my heart of hearts I still call myself a writer. Is it a title to. which
I can honestly lay claim? Or do I fool myself. Am I merely a sad, quixotic charac-
ter, reaching for the unreachable? The answer changes from day to day; but let
me tell you what I am thinking right at this moment:
Ther'e are writers who are craftsmen and there are writers who are artists, just
as there are painters and musicians and woodworkers who are craftsmen and
others like them who are artists. The same applies to just about any vocation,
really. Art is borne out of struggle; not always a struggle that can be seen on the
outside, but a struggle of some sort, whether it is internal or external. You can
identify an artist by the way he lives his life. He resists, but sometimes succumbs
to, the easy and the obvious. He believes, despite all evidence to the contrary,
that he has something to "say" that other people want to hear.
Today, I am an artist. I am writing for sheer pleasure. No, not even that. I am
Fe talking into a tape recorder. And I am putting the words on paper so that some­
one -anyone -will read them. I am not doing this because it is easy. In fact, it
is extremely difficult for me to overcome the fear that what I am writing is not
worthy of being read. But because I feel that you who have contributed to and
you who are reading Hobo Jungle are kith of sorts, I can muster the courage to
say publicly what I have long believed in private. Hobo Jungle is my handle. It
can be yours too. We don't have to fear our mothers any more. We can point
r .. proudly to what we do in black ink. And if success is measured by how much it
pays, we can hold up our ten dollar checks and say "There's more where that
D came from."
,... Illustration on Page 2 Hang in there brothers and sisters. We'll show them all!
by Thea Bass -M.E.
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