The Art of the Doorstep

 

I suppose we all baulk against our parents, and the single piece of advice I got that made me want to become a writer came from my father, who was also a writer: Don’t become a writer.

My father was a journalist in Dublin in the ’60s and ’70s. They were drink-sodden times. He himself never imbibed, but he saw the sort of ruin that journalism could inflict on a body. Often there was a ring on our doorbell in our house in Deansgrange in the early evening. An unsteady journalist would be brought into the front room where he would promise my father, a features editor, a new piece at the end of the week. All he wanted, in exchange, was a few bob. Some money would change hands. The man tipped his hat and piled into a waiting taxi. I could almost hear the taxi slosh its way down the street …

So when at the age of 16, I told my father that I wanted to be a journalist, he told me not to become one. What he really meant, I suppose, was not to become the sort of man who would walk up to his doorstep. If I was to write, I should create from the imagination, he said. He was encouraging me, and warning me at the same time. I did indeed go on to become a journalist, but then in order to put a different spin on any of the fictions that the newspaper world offered me, I began to write novels. I owe it to my father, I suppose, this peculiar curse of invention, though there are times I still think that I am climbing that old doorstep.

Permission required for reprinting, reproducing, or other uses.

Colum McCann is the author of numerous novels, including Let the Great World Spin, winner of the National Book Award.

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