My hometown is Indianapolis, Indiana, the birthplace of the Indy 500, the city with an astounding number of roundabouts, the largest significant city not on a navigable river, and home to the world’s largest children’s museum and Kurt, one of the most adored authors of the twentieth century.
Kurt Vonnegut, that is. The author, whose works include classics like Slaughterhouse-Five, Cat’s Cradle, and Breakfast of Champions, elevated
Photo by Adam Bouse on Unsplash
satire to the status of a duty. In his writing, he found a way to make us laugh at the world’s ridiculousness while asking us not to disregard it. He possessed that uncommon combination of seriousness and irreverence, which allowed him to be a master of dark humor and profound insight.
Just like Kurt did, I do my writing in Indianapolis. So, it’s easy to see that Kurt and I are similar.
Wait, okay—not a lot. But we do share an Indy zip code and dreams. I share his aspirations of becoming a writer. His was accomplished. Keystroke by keystroke, I’m making progress on mine.
Kurt wrote thirteen novels. I published one book, a dismal failure, but I learned from my mistakes. But you can’t write me off! I have made a decent livelihood as a writer of grant proposals and am presently working on my memoirs and writings. I have been successfully raising money for charitable organizations while Kurt criticized capitalism, war, and the American Dream. It’s a new battleground. Still admirable.
As he wrote, he carried the world’s weight on his shoulders, a cigarette dripping from his lips. As I write, a coffee mug rests in my hand, and the hazard lights of impending deadlines glare at me. One of his recurring characters, Kilgore Trout, was as pitiful as he was bright. Like the characters in my works, I deal with persistent uncertainties.
But hear me out: I have no interest in following in Kurt Vonnegut’s footsteps. An obscene doodle likely served as the ship’s pilot, and the ship has since sailed. My ultimate goal is to become the best version of myself as a writer—someone who enjoys playing with words and ideas and telling stories—and, who knows, may even be able to make some readers laugh, ponder, or feel less alone.
I respect Vonnegut’s ability to mix comedy with tragedy, foolishness, and insight. His audacity in addressing sensitive topics like war, politics, and the frailty of human dignity is what truly set him apart. I might not have his signature moustache or enjoy the same level of fame, but I do share his optimism that words can have an impact with their power to unite us. And it has the power to jolt us into consciousness.
I may not be able to climb onto his pedestal just yet, but I can stand up from my desk, look out the window at the skyline we shared in Indiana, and say, “Thanks, Kurt. You’ve entertained me, caused me to think, provided me with writing lessons, and catalyzed my writing endeavors. Just for fun. To learn. As a result, the writer can find humor in a completely insane universe.”
After that, I will return to my work. The reason is that another narrative is patiently awaiting composition in this metropolis of perpetual motion and boundless aspiration.
I will do it.
