The Nonfiction Corner #9
© 2003, Don Vaughan

      As I write this column, I'm preparing to go on vacation--a much-needed four-day respite at Walt Disney World with my lovely wife Nan. Our itinerary includes a day at the Magic Kingdom, a day at MGM/Disney, a day at Epcot and a night or two on Pleasure Island. Not to mention a pricey but comfortable room in an official Disney resort and several expensive but delicious meals at Disney's fine restaurants.
      What this means, of course, is the loss of four valuable work days. Four days away from the computer and the phone and the fax and everything else that defines my occupation. Three days without writing a word. Three days of supposed rest and relaxation.
      In preparation, I conducted three extensive telephone interviews today for an article on hiring trends I'm writing for Veterinary Product News. I also set up four other interviews for when I get back. Had I not done this, I would be horrifyingly behind in my work upon my return, and as we all know, a deadline waits for no man.
      Don't get me wrong. I'm really looking forward to spending some time away from work and home. But I'm not kidding myself. As any real writer knows, you never leave your work behind. It goes where you go, omnipresent and insatiable.
      Were I to work in a factory making automobiles, things no doubt would be very different. My work day would probably be 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. Monday through Friday (with maybe a little overtime if I were lucky), and when I went on vacation, I would leave the tools of my trade at the door and never look back.
      But writing isn't like that. It's not a 9-to-5, Monday through Friday kind of thing. Truth is, a writer works all the time--24 hours a day, 7 days a week. We work on weekends and holidays. We work while strolling on the beach and attending our children's birthday parties and listening to the minister drone on in church.
      It's just the nature of our profession. We can't help it. Ideas come to us at the darndest times. Incredible leads fall from the heavens when we least expect them. That troublesome "right word" will enter our brain when it should be the farthest thing from our mind.
      That's how the writer's brain works. And there's nothing we can do about it.
      So even though I'm looking forward to spending four days at Disney World, I'm fully aware that my job will be following me every step of the way. I'll have a pad and pen with me on the drive up, and a smaller version in my pocket while riding Space Mountain.
      I have to, because vacations past have proved that I'll come up with about 10 great article ideas on the ride up, another half dozen on the ride home, and God knows what else while walking from Frontierland to Tomorrowland.
      For some strange reason, my brain refuses to go on vacation. I can't stop looking at the world through my Writer's Eye. Everything I do, everyone I meet, every place I go is a potential article or short story. The last time Nan and I visited Disney World, I wondered about the people who work so hard keeping the park clean. What kind of stuff do they find left behind by careless tourists at the end of the day? What treasures lay buried in the park's lost and found?
      And what about the nurses who work at amusement parks? I'll bet their stories would make find fodder for a humorous piece to a nursing journal.
      And how does Disney World prepare for a hurricane? To the best of my knowledge, the park's never been hit, but you never know. How long does it take to tie down Cinderella's castle and secure the Haunted Mansion? All of these topics, I think, would make great articles.
      That's how my mind works all the time. And frankly, I wouldn't have it any other way.
      My advice to you? Don't fight it when you start seeing the world only through your Writer's Eye. It's stronger than you and resistance is futile. Instead, go along for the ride, take as many notes as you can, and then write like you've never written before.
      And when you've sold the end result, let me know. Nothing would make me happier.
      See you when I get back.