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How I Became a Writer
- Lady Ronit
- Mar 30
- 4 min read
Tadeusz Boy-Żeleński
We read this lecture in class as an individual assignment, and I must admit I really liked it. I didn't find a single word with which I disagreed, in my soul, after every line I thought: how smart I am, at the age of twenty (and I feel old), to understand everything that, at the time, Tadeusz Boy-Żeleński, who was already aging and losing the mucus lining his joints, understood as an old man. The few, yet highly valued, subscribers of my sweet weekly can also be proud, as you help me fulfill my dream of being appreciated during my lifetime, like Scott Fitzgerald, even though my psychological makeup resembles Kafka more. You have been with me since the start of my journey, for which I am immensely grateful, and although we both know I don't need your money, and the amount is ridiculously small, if only you could see the look on my grandfather's face, a serious businessman and retired politician (though, honestly, as hard as it may be for me to believe, an honest one, as befits a gentleman of old), when I sold my first subscription, and it was summer. That day even my father said that if I want to write, then I must be right and I should write. To clarify and give context, since some readers might feel lost after the previous content, which is logical, as my Papa is an unfamiliar figure to them, I will add that the only respectable ways of earning money in the eyes of my dear Papa up until last July, as I dare to suspect, were the following: first, humbly waiting for my established allowance and living with my father for my whole life, which provided him with a peaceful mind and the patience of inheriting, leading to the acquisition of ownership rights to real estate, which, as the old family rule says, should never be sold, only rented with full dignity, avoiding any foolishness. Since childhood, I have been told like a mantra that a person's greatest asset is their real estate, and the greatest sin is to be tempted to sell one of them, as such behaviour belongs to whores (and indeed, our proud family has had such individuals, after a few years of revealing between Mykonos and Libya, sometimes forced to return to Poland to convince their beloved grandfather to sponsor further trips and voyages).
Before I delve into more personal, family reflections, I would like to mention Tadeusz Boy’s erudition. The excess of form over substance, the flowery language, and then suddenly, BAM!, the content surpassing the form, I was left in admiration and a pleasant conviction that I remind myself of him (this probably stems from years of cultivating my dear mind through the translation of French literature, a craft taught by that doctor).
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