Summary: If you were to meet me in person, you’d find out I’m a little silly. My humor is situational, and a story grows more animated in relation to audience reaction—which I don’t have in real time here on the podcast.<br> <br> If we were together in person and I saw that you and other listeners were amused by something I said, I’d play around with it and gauge how far I could take it. I'd make goofy faces and do voices if it added punch to the punchline.<br> <br> This may be hard for you to believe, since you usually hear me on this podcast speaking in a fairly measured, calm tone. But, yeah, if you were to meet me in person I think you’d be surprised. I’ve had more than one client say they did not expect me to be fun or funny.<br> What Do I Write Next: Exploring Strengths<br> I’ve often wondered if that represents untapped potential for my writing. In fact, when I’m trying to decide what to write next, I occasionally ponder the possibility of exploring humor. Could I pull it off? Would people laugh?<br> <br> Then I remember the times I’ve tried to translate my comical side to the page. I’ve not done it often, but when I have…it’s usually fallen flat.<br> <br> In contrast, I’ve found that the strongest reactions to my writing over the years have come in response to quiet, reflective, somewhat melancholy pieces.<br> <br> Restrained, vulnerable memoir seems to be my vein of gold.<br> The Vein of Gold<br> Back in the late 1990s I discovered Julia Cameron’s book The Vein of Gold on a library bookshelf. She explains where she got the concept and phrase she used in the title. It came from a chat she had with film director Martin Ritt, when he said:<br> All actors have a certain territory, a certain range, they were born to play. I call that range their ‘vein of gold.’ If you cast an actor within that vein, he will always give you a brilliant performance. Of course, you can always cast an actor outside his vein of gold. If you do, the actor can use craft and technique to give you a very fine, a very creditable performance, but never a performance as brilliant as when he is working in his vein of gold. (Cameron, 99)<br> To explore this, Cameron considers Robert De Niro's roles that feature male bonding versus anything focusing on the love of a woman. De Niro’s vein of gold: male bonding roles.<br> <br> Kevin Kline in comedy versus drama. Kline’s vein of gold: comedy.<br> <br> Meryl Streep in comedy compared with high drama. Julia Cameron’s book was published in 1996, and I think most of us would agree with Cameron’s conclusion that at that time, Streep’s vein of gold was drama.<br> Discovering a Writer’s Vein of Gold<br> I've thought about that phrase—that idea—on and off for years. Is Mr. Ritt’s theory correct? Does an actor have a vein of gold? Does a writer?<br> <br> If so, what’s my vein of gold? Have I stumbled into the kind of writing where I’m regularly giving my finest performance?<br> <br> The concept is arguable, but let’s say for now he's correct: that every artist—whether actor, sculptor, singer, or writer—has a vein of gold.<br> Subject Matter Gold<br> For writers, maybe it comes out in the topics we write about. Whenever we compose a book review, our critical analysis makes readers consider the title more carefully and we realized this is where we shine.<br> <br> We write about culture or politics or sports, and our writing exudes energy, spark, or sizzle. When that happens, we may have stumbled into our subject matter vein of gold.<br> <br> One day we switch things up to experiment: we take a freelance job writing about sports when we’re best at book reviews. After a few weeks we realize we’ve mastered the jargon and learned all the stats—we offer a very fine, a very creditable finished product—but it’s not what anyone would call brilliant.<br> <br> Alternately, we may discover we’ve found a new area of passion and write e...
