Advice to Writers from a Modern Classic: William Langewiesche

By Wendy Murray

William Langewiesche, best-selling author, international correspondent for Vanity Fair, and (it so happens) a pilot,  won the rare honor of being chosen by the editors of Penguin Modern Classics (U.K.) to publish a volume of his writings about flight, thus joining the ranks of George Orwell, Evelyn Waugh, Albert Camus,  Italo Calvino, Capote, Steinbeck and Gandhi.

Titled Aloft  (Feb 2010), Penguin chose the topic of flight from Langewiesche’s writing corpus because, says PMC-U.K. editor Helen Conford, “William possesses a unique perspective on flight and his writing is almost poetic in the way it captures the first century of flight.” It is “a rare event” that a living writer should be numbered among other classic (deceased) authors.  “PMC publishes only those authors whose writing they believe will be recognized in a hundred years’ time,” says Conford.

Langewiesche's approach to writing is a matter of "connecting the dots," getting on the ground, sniffing out the story, "going from Point A to Point B, and taking as long as it takes."

“I could write about anything,” he says.  We were sharing a meal at a pub and he points to a red bucket perched slightly to the left outside the door. “I could write a story about that red bucket. Why is it red? What is its diameter? Why does it carry two parallel ridges around its circumference? What is its metallic composition? Tin? Who made it? Why does he make buckets? Is he a peasant-tycoon--you know, a regular guy who doesn’t give a shit about superficiality? They get to the inner essence of things--the stuff you find in junkyards.”

On another occasion I overheard him giving writing advice to his assistant by phone.

On using the first person:
“If first person relates to what you are feeling, drop it out. No one’s concerned about you. Use the first person naturally, but never about yourself.”

On length:
“You’re not going too long. Go long. Make it 30,000 words. We’ll cut it later. Go long. Go long. Just tell the story. Grab the reader by the balls."

On fact-checkers
“Forget the brackets. Why burden the reader with the fact-checker neurosis? I don’t write for fact-checkers."

About his writing process:

I'm a writer. Even when I was a pilot I was a writer. I read an enormous amount of material on what I'm working on but I never take notes on what I read. I don't even underline anymore. I just read and allow myself to forget what is naturally forgotten and remember what I remember. I feel no obligation to cite anything. I like my prose unburdened with apparatus. I take relatively few notes. I listen carefully. I like to use a recorder because it adds the ability to revisit things in a way taking notes doesn't. It's not a crutch, though it's a pain in the ass. I also prefer to do my own research. It makes my work less encyclopedic.

The American version of Aloft,  available at Amazon, etc.

I see writing as highly tactile, like sculpting, forming something, smoothing it with hand strokes. Where before there was nothing, in the end there is a sculpture, an object. Occasionally it doesn't happen that way, either because of my own inability or because I don't have the right subject matter. You can get stuck with an overly linear, overly complex, overly generalized text—all kinds of overlys—that can screw up the aesthetic of a piece. At the same time, I hate aesthetics for aesthetics sake. That is a form of masturbation. Rule number one in writing is Don't Insult the Reader. It's a great insult to a reader to waste reading time. You have this very precious relationship with each reader, and that reader is probably smarter than I am.

My Interview with Chris Mellas, Stepfather of Amanda Knox

Assisi, Italy (May 20, 2010)
by Wendy Murray 
& the International Journalism Seminar Assisi (IJSA)

Please note:
I learned after this interview that Chris Mellas was 27 years of age at the time he married Amanda's mother, Edda Mellas (who was 39) in 2002 when Amanda was 14. In the interview I asked Mellas about Amanda's early life, and now know he did not experience these early years as a member of the family. Some of the questions I ask reflect my misconception. 

In May 2010 the students participating in the International Journalism Seminar Assisi, led by journalist and author Wendy Murray, and part of the international study program at Gordon College (Wenham, MA), met with Chris Mellas, Amanda's mother's husband.

At the time of this interview, Knox was 24 year-old and serving a 26-year prison term in Perugia, having been convicted (with two others) of the murder in 2007 of her flat mate, Meredith Kercher. The Knox/Mellas family appealed the conviction and the verdict was thrown out a year after this interview. Since then the case was re-opened by the Italian court. Amanda's ongoing appeal -- which is the second stage of the original trial -- (taking place in Florence, Italy) is set to conclude and reach a verdict by the end of this month.

My team of students, working out of Assisi, Italy, met with Mellas on May 20, 2010. Below is an excerpt from this otherwise lengthy conversation. Mellas was interviewed by Wendy Murray.


How this ordeal has had an impact on you as a family? How has it changed how you live?

We look at what we were doing before this–I was getting ready to open up a restaurant, trying to get out of the IT business–and all that disappeared. Now, from the time you wake up to the time you go to sleep, this is our first priority.

It is a crushing weight to know that everyone is looking at you. You’re always cringing, always wondering when the next article coming out. They’re talking about the family quite a bit.

Can you give us insight into Amanda’s upbringing?
Her parents were already separated when Amanda was born. Every other weekend she would visit her father who lived five blocks away. Everyone lives within walking distance and they constantly get together. I credit both [Edda and Curt Knox] for having such a decent relationship. There is never any nastiness.

Do you consider yourself as a father to Amanda?
I can’t say I ever really sat down and thought about it that way. We have a very open relationship. She can tell me anything. In fact sometimes I say, “nah-ah — too much information.” But I’m all right with the majority of it.

I spend the most time here [in Italy] because in my line of work [IT]. I can work from anywhere. I typically spend three-month blocks here and then get away for 6 to 8 weeks.

Tuesdays and Fridays she’s allowed to have visits for one hour. We sit at a table just like you and I are sitting.

How is she?
She’s still in the process of adapting to being there. Some days she’s fine, other days,  not. She’s a lot better than she was. It’s much less foreign to her now. The last time I visited her she was kind of so-so. It’s difficult for her right now because she feels like she is completely wasting her life away.

When you have something like this hanging over you it is hard to focus on anything. For the longest time she wasn’t even able to read a book. You can’t clear your mind and focus enough to do that.

Now she has to prepare for her next ordeal, her slander charge — the pretrial begins on June 1st. Slander charge is not a civil lawsuit. It’s a criminal lawsuit that carries up to six years.

You suggested you were concerned about Amanda going to Italy to study. Why?
I knew before she left [for Italy], when she was living with all her friends at the University of Washington, that on occasion she would smoke weed. She didn’t do it very often. I did tell her it was stupid. She hung out with “hippie people” and considered herself “very granola.” She loved camping. She was always out rock climbing. She was into the music of the 60s and 70s, and she went vegetarian. I taught her to play guitar a little bit and so she would sit around doing that. At the same time, in college, she did have boyfriends. When she came here it was more of the same.

But her number one thing is languages. She loves languages and is fluent in several. She wanted to add Italian. I was concerned about her coming [to Italy] and said [to Edda] that she’s a little naive. She’s not street wise. Rather than going to Rome or any of these places that are a little more tourist friendly, she decided to go to Perugia. Then, on top of that, she decided to go to the regular university there [the University of Perugia], not the university for foreigners. [University of Foreigners at Perugia]. It was a hundred percent immersion. Then on top of that, she decided she didn’t want to live in a dorm but was going to get a house off campus. [Amanda attended the University of Foreigners at Perugia.]

I told her she wasn’t ready for this kind of thing. I told her to go study in Germany because we have family there. But she said her German was already perfect. She’s a fairly driven person when it comes to that kind of thing. She said, “no, I want this.”

So in the end did you feel all right about her being here before November 1?
She seemed to have settled in pretty well. I was more concerned about her getting mugged. I gave her a can of pepper spray that she kept on her key chain. She complained a couple times in email about being harassed by guys coming on to her all the time. For girls, especially blond ones, it’s a common thing. But she was loving it here. She told us about Raffaele. She said he looked just like Harry Potter.

(Copyright©Wendy Murray, 2010, 2014. All rights reserved. No portion of this interview can be reproduced in any form–print or electronic–without written permission of the author.)

Read the raw transcript of the entire interview.

Writing Advice from the Writer of the Stars: Tom Junod

By Wendy Murray
(This piece appeared first on Tumblr, in a blog that has been deleted.)

Tom Junod’s Esquire cover story (Dec.) on George Clooney created a buzz, not because it was by Tom Junod, but because of what Clooney said about Russell Crowe and Twitter, among other things. When the buzz commenced, before seeing the piece, I knew instantly that 1. if it was a cover story on Clooney and 2. in Esquire — and 3. that it was buzzing — it was written by Tom Junod.

Our careers intersected years ago in the person of Fred (Mister) Rogers. Writing a piece about Fred was where we both went as journalists when we needed some reorientation or recalibrating of who we are.

Fred said to me repeatedly during that assignment, “Oh Wendy, do call Tom. He is such a wonderful man.” Fred Rogers died in 2003. Tom and I both felt the loss deeply. Fred brought us together as friends and colleagues who speak truth to each other. (There is no place else to go when your starting point is Mister Rogers.)

I spoke with Tom at length not long ago for a book I am writing. It was a compelling and intimate conversation that reveals that, behind the Clooney buzz, he is a writer with a profound sense of his humanity.

I include a few glimpses of that conversation below:

On his father [whom he likens to “Don Draper” of Mad Men]
I couldn’t watch certain TV shows. I couldn’t watch The Monkees or The Flying Nun. His problem with The Flying Nun was that he thought it was sacreligious, even though he was a heathen and never went to church. And his problem with The Monkees was that [when] he used to go to night clubs in New York City, El Morocco and Copacabana — he was big on that world; he lived like a wannabe star and wannabe gangster at the same time — he had heard in his travels that one of the Monkees was gay. I was 8 or something and I wasn’t allowed to watch The Monkees because one of them apparently was a homosexual.

On journalism & an oddly disorienting childhood
The journalists that I like the most have that in common. The guys that I know the best are the Esquire guys, the crowd of guys I came up with.  All of us have a lot of that in common. We kind of stumbled our way into it. I value those voices more than I value than the people who are trying to make journalism one-of-the-professions crowd.

On William Faulkner
Faulkner’s writing was like the-whole-word-in-a-sentence kind of thing. He would write these endless sentences, marching up and down with words I didn’t know (I had to look them up in a dictionary). The whole idea of putting a world in a sentence seemed to appeal to me right away. And it still does.

When I started reading literature I found people who finally had their say in ways that were consummate and unimpeachable and complete.

That is still part of me as a writer. I tend to write long. I tend to write in paragraphs rather than in sentences. That desire to have my say has been with me since I was a kid. Journalism allowed me that and I’m happy for it.

On Fred ‘Mister’ Rogers [The assignment came in the bruising aftermath of the publication of a piece Tom had written a controversial piece about Kevin Spacey]

There was an editor at Esquire that had the idea of me doing a piece on Mister Rogers based on the logic: Wouldn’t it be funny for Tom, the bad boy now, this take-no-prisoners guy, to go and interview Mister Rogers?

Then I went in and saw Fred. And Fred, in his way, decided to trust me in a open way and strategic way, in a way that let me know that he knew that I needed to be trusted. Fred Rogers had a way of looking at people — it was a minister’s way of looking at people — knowing what they needed. And Fred trusted me. I wrote about that when I wrote about Fred.

I had come to a difficult moment in my career. I was really having trouble writing and figuring out what was expected of me — was I supposed to be the good guy? Was I supposed to be the bad guy? Am I wearing black? Am I wearing white? All this extra-journalistic stuff or non-journalistic stuff was entering into my journalism. Then Fred came along and offered me this trust. It was an amazing experience.

A moment of grace

I was not looking for a moment of grace. I came in there thinking, Isn’t this funny that Tom, the guy who can tear the skin off of somebody’s back, is going to do a piece on gentle Fred?

I spent a lot of time with Fred. Bill Eisler [Fred’s agent] and I were driving to Fred’s hometown of Latrobe the day we went to Fred’s parents’ graveside. On the way down Bill said:

‘You know what’s happening here, don’t you?’

I said, ‘no.’

He said, ‘Fred’s interested in you spiritually.’

I said, ‘Really?’

He said, ‘Do you really think Fred spends time like this with people? Fred doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do.’

Under that gentle voice is a man of steel. Bill was very clear about that. Fred does not do anything he does not want to do.

Fred definitely had a spiritual agenda that I did not have. I have had moments of desperation as a writer and I was desperate about writing at that time. Writing doesn’t come easily to me. When things are working I can write well and I can write long. But when they aren’t I am practically illiterate.

I’ve been trying to move towards being honest with people and having a human experience with people. It’s such a large part of the job. To have people trust you and believe is a profound thing. The fact that I’ve become friendly with certain people that I’ve written about is important to me. It never used to be. I used to be kind of a scorched-earth person. I think that is a younger man’s game. As you get older you realize that it is not worth having somebody call you a liar or having somebody say you betrayed his trust. It is very damaging to me and damning to me.


In my piece about Fred I talk about the umbrella opening in my heart [when he prayed]. It was a spiritual moment. But it was also a writing moment. I had a piece that I had to do for Esquire that I was completely jammed on; I couldn’t write it. When I felt my heart open like an umbrella, I knew in that moment that I was going to be able to go back to my hotel room and finish that piece. I felt that certain burdens were lifted.

Best of the Week, Dec 31 - Jan 5

In case you missed our postings last week, here are the highlights. Happy New Year!

8 Lessons Learned About Social Media as Your Workplace:  Keep going; slow and steady wins the race. Millions compete for internet space. Stay on point; don't freak out. Good content always prevails. . .

Tea with Frederick Buechner: He says, "It was John Updike who said God saves his deepest silence for his saints. Some people might say, 'The hell with it.' His silence throws me back upon myself and I must search my own depths. I'm still searching, aren't you?" He bobs his tea bag. "If we're not searching, we're dead" . . .

The Plaintive Faith of T.S. Eliot: 
. . . No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous--
Almost, at times, the Fool.

Tea with Frederick Buechner

By Wendy Murray

Fred Buechner, photo by Wendy Murray

On Rupert Mountain, Vermont, in May 2002, Frederick Buechner is serving tea, no cream, no sugar. I ask him what he means when he writes frequently about God's silence.

I have traveled to Vermont to meet with him in order to write an article for Christianity Today magazine. We have been chatting for about an hour when he decides it is time for tea. He hands me mine and takes his, settling back into his chair.

He says, "It was John Updike who said God saves his deepest silence for his saints. Some people might say, 'The hell with it.' His silence throws me back upon myself and I must search my own depths. I'm still searching, aren't you?" He bobs his tea bag. "If we're not searching, we're dead."

I tell him his novel The Storm left me sad.

"Oh, I disagree," he says. "I think it ends upbeat."

I say, "It feels like [the protagonist] Kenzie Maxwell simply gives up on his dreams and resigns himself to a life of mediocrity."

He replies, "Why, at the end, all these people come together. The brothers are reconciled. Kenzie stops writing his letters to his dead lover."

“But," I say, "at the end of the book Kenzie is lying alone in his bed, wondering about the crazy saints and if what had driven them crazy was their endlessly trying -- as he was -- to find where they really belonged." -- "Has Kenzie found where he belongs?"

"Maybe not," Buechner says. "But he's come a long way."

The Storm's narrator says (of Kenzie): "He thought of himself as a man who wrote because he couldn't think of anything else to do with his delusions." I ask Buechner what he meant.

"I wish I had said 'illusions'," he says. "Kenzie is a self-deprecating illusionist."

I ask, "Which of your novels would be your seminal work? Godric is as close as you've come to writing in your 'life's blood,' as you say. But I believe you could come closer."

He doesn't disagree. Then he adds, "All of my fiction was written with my life's blood."