All language subtitles for Masterclass David Sedaris Teaches Storytelling and Humor - 03.Turning Observations Into Stories

[MUSIC PLAYING]

I used to write
in the evening.

And then I quit drinking.

And when I quit drinking and
I sat down in the evening,

I thought, I don't
know if I can do this,

because there should
be booze on my table.

So I thought, well, I'll change
the time of day that I write,

because I'm not used to having
booze on my table at 10 o'clock

in the morning.

So I started writing
in the morning.

And then eventually I was
able to write in the morning

and at night as well.

So I usually get up, and
I go straight to my desk.

And I start by
writing in my diary.

And then I turn to whichever
essay I've been working on.

I work from 10:00 till 1:30.

And then I go out and I pick
garbage up off the roads

until 8 o'clock at night.

And then I sit down at
my desk for another hour

and work some more.

And I have dinner.

Sometimes I go back to work
after dinner, but usually not.

I know for myself,
it's very important

to write every single day.

I meet a lot of young
writers who say--

and I say, do you
write every day?

And they say, no,
but just-- you know,

I write when it strikes me.

I don't know.

I suppose that might
work for some people.

I'm not really the one to
say, but it would never

have worked for me, you know?

If you're-- so much happens by
sitting at your desk when you

don't have an idea.

So many things can
happen, but they're not

going to happen unless
you're at your desk.

So you need to sit there,
and not have the internet,

and see what happens.

You just have to do the work.

And that means not
going to the party.

And it means people are really
going to think you're a drag.

I mean a lot of people--

I can't tell you how many people
have lectured me over the years

and said, well, you can come
out to dinner just this once.

Or why can't you
come to the party?

You're being horribly
selfish by not doing this.

And everybody else
is going to be there.

I've met so many people who say,
well, I really want to write,

but I work all day.

So did I. You work all
day, and then you come home

and you write.

If it means that
much to you, you're

going to find the time to do it.

That's not-- that's
never an excuse,

to say that you
don't have the time.

And there are a lot
of people out there

who are happy to give 10%.

But I don't know
any of them who--

I don't know their names,
because they don't have books.

[MUSIC PLAYING]

So I thought I would read a
few little diary entries here.

Some of them I went on to
turn into stories and essays.

And others, I just have
them in a file so that--

I feel like they all
get a good response,

and they're all strong openers.

The thing is they're incidents.

They're vignettes.

They're not essays, right?

So November 13, 2015.

Spokane, Washington.

I was in a murderous
temper yesterday.

Part of it was lack of sleep,
part was general tour fatigue,

and part was left
over from the night

before, when the
producers in Olympia

stuck me in a sweltering black
box from my book signing.

Adam was supposed to collect
me in Spokane at around noon

but his flight from O'Hare
to Denver was canceled,

so instead he sent a car
service to pick me up.

The driver, a plump woman
in her early 30's, met me

at the baggage claim, and when
she asked how my flight was,

I knew that it was
going to be a long ride.

It's not her fault, but
I've had it with small talk.

The same lines day after day.

I just can't do it any more.

I never caught her
name, this woman.

She wore a flat topped cap,
and a hideous tan colored

dress that looked like she'd
made it herself in the dark.

On her left shin was
a tattoo to there

was maybe four inches tall
and looked freshly done.

"What is that, exactly?"

I asked.

"Well, an anchor, obviously,
surrounded by some scripture."

"Hmmm," I said.

She smiled.

"I see you didn't bring
the sunshine with you!"

I gritted my teeth
and was quiet until we

got into her car, a big SUV that
smelled like a Yankee Candle

shop.

"Do you sew?"

I asked as we headed into town.

"Me?

Gosh no," she said.

"But that's a funny question."

I stayed at The Davenport.

"How's your day going?"
the check-in clerk said.

"I've been here before,"
was how I answered.

"Well, welcome back.

I wish you'd brought
us some sunshine!"

I moaned.

This morning at breakfast
I was escorted to the table

by a beautiful young hostess.

"How are you?" she asked.

I said nothing.

"How are you?"

The third time she
asked, I told her

that I was no longer
answering that question.

"It"s just not
important," I said.

She gave me the
look a person does

when they work in
the service industry

and need to tell someone,
as subtly as possible,

that he or she is
being an asshole.

I returned her look
with one of my own

said, "Actually,
you're the asshole."

She walked away and as I
lowered my napkin to my lap

I noticed that my fly was down.

Of course, I thought.

Adam was originally going to
drive me to the airport at 8:20

this morning, but instead
he changed his flight,

so I took a car driven by the
same woman I had yesterday.

"How was your stay?"

she asked.

"OK."

"How was the show?"

"Fine."

We were silent
for a few minutes,

and then I apologized
for being in a bad mood.

"I think I've been on tour
too long," I told her.

"I just can't take the
small talk anymore.

Here it is, not even
8:30 and I've already

been asked how I am six times."

She nodded.

"It's just a lazy
question," I said.

"Why not ask, I don't know,
'Have you ever donated bone

marrow?'

If the person you ask is in a
bad mood it'll still come back

to bite you I suppose.

I guess there's
just no way to win."

"I see your point,"
the young woman said.

"I'm not intellectual
like you, so maybe I

wouldn't put it that way, but
I understand what you mean."

"I'm not an
intellectual," I said.

"Far from it."

We were quiet again, and
then I asked what she

planned to do for Thanksgiving.

"I'm thinking I'll get one
of those kits," she said.

"The kind that has
everything in them--

turkey and stuffing and so
forth, and then in the day I'll

maybe play football."

"You play football?"

I asked.

"Just tag," she said.

"Our family does it every year.

I got boys."

She seemed so young then.

"How many?"

"Two," she said, "One
seven, the other eight."

I asked their names
and after she told me,

and after I had winced, she
turned onto the road that

led to the Alaska Air terminal.

"My husband died
nine months ago,

so the holidays, they're hard.

I'm not sure if we should do
the same things we did last year

or try something
different, you know?"

If she was savvy, she'd
say this every time

she dropped someone
off at the airport.

It's what I'd do--

claim my husband just died
and rake in the tips--

but she wasn't like me.

She wasn't a snob or a
grump, just a young widow

in an ugly dress
who has two children

and is trying to put one
foot in front of the other.

God, do I feel like an asshole.

November 26, 2013.

Emerald Isle, North Carolina.

Because I've accumulated
so many miles,

they bumped me up on the
flight from Atlanta to Raleigh.

I thought our plane would
be on the small side,

but instead, perhaps
owing to Thanksgiving,

and the great number of
travelers, it was huge.

Usually first
class and coach are

separated by only a
curtain, but here there

was an entire
galley between them.

I was seated on
the very first row,

in front of a woman who looked
to be in her early 60's and was

letting her hair go
from dyed red to gray.

Shortly after settling in
she started a conversation

with the fellow
seated beside her.

That's how I learned that
she lived in Costa Rica.

"It's account of my
husband," she said.

"He's military, well, retired
military though you never

really leave the
Marine Corps do you?"

She started explaining how
she went from North Carolina

to Central America but
then the flight attendant

came to take a drink order
from the guy beside me,

and I missed it.

Just as I was tuning back
in, a man across the aisle

tried to open his overhead bin.

It was stuck for some
reason, and he pounded on it,

saying to whoever would listen,
"This is like Obamacare.

Broken."

Several of the
passengers around me

laughed, and I
noted their faces,

vowing that in the
event of a crisis,

I would not help lead
them to an emergency exit.

"You people are on
your own," I thought,

knowing that if we did go
down, it would probably

be one of them who'd save me.

Not that Republicans
are braver or more

clear headed in times of
crisis than Democrats.

Rather it's just my luck.

After taking off from
Atlanta I pulled out

my Japanese notebook,
pretending to study

but actually listening
to the woman behind me,

who continued to talk
throughout the entire flight.

"And of course
the cost of living

is practically nothing
compared to what

it is here in the States--

not that I don't miss anything."

I guess she was drinking just
as steadily as she was talking.

Or maybe she'd gotten a head
start during her layover.

She didn't sound drunk,
exactly, but just shy of it.

Loud and adamant,
as if the person

she was talking to wasn't
listening correctly.

"I'm not saying I'll
spend the rest of my life,

there that's not
what I meant at all,

but what's the rush as long
as we're having fun, right?"

It was dark by the time
we landed in Raleigh.

And as we taxied to the gate,
one of the flight attendants

made an announcement.

The "Remain Seated Until the
'Fasten Seat Belt' Sign Has

Been Turned Off" part
was to be expected.

But then she added that we had
some very special passengers

on board.

"Oh, no," I thought.

"Please don't embarrass me."

I was just wondering who the
other important person might

be, when she said, "With us
today is the outstanding soccer

team from Green Hope High
School in Cary, North Carolina."

The woman behind me applauded
loudly, cheering as she did so,

and when no one joined her
she raised her voice shouting,

"You people are assholes.

I mean, what the
hell, you can't even

clap for a bunch of teenagers?"

I'd meant to applaud but figured
the team was back in coach.

They wouldn't have heard
me one way or the other,

so what difference did it?

"Pathetic," the woman spat,
sounding a little crazy now.

"Too wrapped up in
your smart phones

and iPads to congratulate a
team of high school athletes."

You couldn't say she
hadn't nailed us.

Still I had to bite my
hand to keep from laughing.

It's so funny to be
called an asshole

by someone who doesn't know
you, but then again knows you

so perfectly.

That particular diary
entry, I read it

on stage a number of
times, and I really

liked the way that it worked.

But the thing is that it
was just an incident, right?

It's not an essay.

It's an incident.

It's a vignette, right?

And to stretch it out
didn't make sense,

to take something
that's a page and a half

and think, wow, if I
stretch it into 12 pages,

like if I described
the flight attendant,

and if I talk about
the weather outside,

and if I talk more about the
Japanese notebook that I have

and the words I was studying,
I could stretch it out,

but that's not--

that did not feel
like a story to me.

It was just a moment.

And I think what made
it funny, I think,

was when the flight attendant
said, "We have some very

special people onboard," my
assumption that she was talking

about me.

And she had no idea who I was.

She was not-- she was
talking about teenagers

is who she was talking about.

But I thought maybe I could
use that as a springboard,

and so use that as a
beginning of a story.

And so you couldn't say
she hadn't nailed us.

Still I had to bite my
hand to keep from laughing.

It's so funny to be
called an asshole

by somebody who
doesn't know you,

but then again knows
you so perfectly.

"See that woman?"

I said to Hugh when he
met me at the baggage

claim a few minutes later.

I told him what had
happened on the plane,

and he folded his
arms across his chest,

the way he always does
before lecturing me.

"She was right, you know.

You should have applauded."

"We've been apart for two
months," I reminded him.

"Would it kill you to
take my side in this?"

He apologized, but
after I'd wrestled

my bag off the carousel and we'd
started toward the parking lot,

he added quietly,
but not so quietly

that I couldn't hear him, "You
really should have clapped."

From the airport we drove
to my brother, Paul's.

There we met up with
my sister, Gretchen,

who had a cast on her right
forearm and held it aloft,

like someone perpetually
being sworn in.

"It helps ease the
pain," she explained.

So what that essay
winds up being about

was we drive to the beach.

And we meet my
sister Lisa there.

And my sister Lisa had
just got the police report

on my sister Tiffany and
learned that before taking

a fistful of pills,
she'd put a bag

over her head, a plastic
bag over her head,

to commit suicide.

So you wouldn't really know
from the beginning of that essay

that that's where
it's going to wind up,

but that's where it took me
when I took the diary essay--

when I took the diary
entry and added to it.

So you can surprise
yourself that way.

The other examples
that I read, the woman

who told me that her husband
had committed suicide, that

could possibly be an essay
about getting people wrong,

about how ashamed
you feel after you've

sort of prejudged somebody and
been less than polite to them.

I haven't figured out
where to take that,

but I always pull that diary
entry out every now and then,

and I think always with
the hope that I would

know where to go from there.

And I think the trick is
to write it over again,

not to copy the file, but
to write every word of it

over again.

And then open yourself up and
see where it might take you.

The danger often is that
you get the laughs right out

of the gate, and
then they kind of

peter out, because the
funniest bit was your opening.

So you have a lot
of work ahead of you

to kind of either
keep it at that level

or come back to that
level at some point,

because you don't want to feel
like you're just running out

of gas, you know, like you
started your essay really

strongly, and then you took
your foot off the gas pedal.

And it just kind of
coasts, and then it stops,

and everyone's just really
relieved that it's over.