Getting in (and out of) your own way
Getting in (and out of) your own way
All the things that make writing more pleasant are also the gaps in the road ahead
Hello, friendses!
(Sorry about that. Squish and I are reading The Hobbit and have just rewatched the Lord of the Ringses.)
A couple of weeks ago I wrote something about writers and their little cabins. This week, while reading Verlyn Klinkenborg's Several short sentences about writing, I came upon this:
Think of all the requirements writers imagine for themselves:
A cabin in the woods A plain wooden table Absolute silence A favorite pen A favorite ink A favorite blank book A favorite typewriter A favorite laptop A favorite writing program A large advance A yellow pad
Klinkenborg literally started his list with "a cabin in the woods." I feel very seen.
Honestly, everything on this list so far—with the exception of a typewriter, perhaps?—and if you substitute pen and ink with 'pencil'—has been something I've thought essential, maybe even deserved, at some point in my writing career. (Early on, some things haven't quite been hammered out of you just yet.)
But Klinkenborg isn't done yet:
A wastebasket A shotgun
Huh. I've never imagined either of these... I guess you have to account for writers like Hunter S. Thompson somewhere, right?
The early light of morning The moon at night A rainy afternoon A thunderstorm with high winds The first snow of winter
I'll confess to these. I love writing at just the right time of day, or in the best/worst weather. A little natural mood-setting can put me in a great writing mood.
A cup of coffee in just the right cup A beer A mug of green tea A bourbon
Okay. I'm not much of a coffee, beer, or tea person. Occasionally, a little bourbon while I write, but I'm out of practice; even a small amount makes me sleepy these days.
Solitude
Critical to me in years past. But I grew out of this one after Felicia and I got married, and particularly after Squish was born.
Sooner of later the need for any one of these will prevent you from writing.
Oh.
Well, then.
Let's go back to my feeling seen. Strike that; replace it with chastised. I feel chastised. Reprimanded, maybe?
Because he's right, isn't he?
Anything you think you need in order to write— Or be "inspired" to write or "get in the mood" to write— Becomes a prohibition when it's lacking. Learn to write anywhere, at any time, in any conditions, With anything, starting from nowhere. All you really need is your head, the one indispensable requirement.
I haven't read all of Klinkenborg's book. It's sitting on my writing desk, and now and then I'll open it up and see what leaps out at me. One of these days, I'll read it cover to cover. It's an unusual book about writing; it's structured like poetry, almost. It is the perfect example of its own title. And each time I've opened it, I've found something worth contemplating a while.
My reading has been all over the place lately, while we're on the subject. I finished reading a book of essays by Laura Lippman recently—My Life as a Villainess, and that was the first actual book I've finished in a little while. My comfort reading, recently, has been, oh, every single Superman comic I can get my hands on. (I particularly love the really grounded stories, like Superman For All Seasons or Secret Identity.)
I'm also reading a baseball book at the moment: Where Nobody Knows Your Name: Life in the Minor Leagues of Baseball, by John Feinstein. In it, Feinstein tracks the journey of a handful of players, coaches, and umpires as they navigate the minors, scratching their way to the major leagues.
It's a roller coaster of a journey, and every day, career trajectories are changed at a whim:
The names are there every single day in the newspapers, listed under the heading "Transactions." The type size for the list of transactions is a small font used for statistical data, commonly known as agate. On almost any given day of the year in baseball, lives change...and those changes are recorded in the agate.
Scott Elarton. Brett Tomko. Chris Schwinden. Scott Podsednik. Nate McLouth. John Lindsey. Charlie Montoyo. Ron Johnson. Mark Lollo.
Nine names that serious baseball fans might—or might not— recognize. Three pitchers, two outfielders, a designated hitter, two managers, and an umpire. Each spent all, or most, of the 2012 baseball season playing in the International League at the Triple-A level, with the exception of McLouth, who went from the majors to "released" to Triple-A and back to the majors again.
Conceptually, the life of a writer is just as volatile, just as subject to external forces. Sure, we're not running down a grounder or throwing a runner out at home from deep left. But a writer dreams of seeing their first book published, and might also dream that, once that rare event occurs, everything from then on is a smooth sail from one book to the next. For most of us, that just isn't the truth of a writing career at all.
Writers have their own "agate," too — the daily publishing reports of books sold, written in their own code: Editor John Doe at Big Time Publishing bought THE NEXT GREAT NOVEL, by Jane Smith, in a very good deal. (Baseball is fairly transparent about the terms of their deals; in publishing, the financial weight of the deals are veiled with terms like 'nice deal' or 'very good deal,' or they aren't reported at all.) Except, for a writer, the agate is usually positive news: Something's been sold, or optioned; some new contract has been signed. That's the opposite, in many cases, of what it means to ballplayers, who can be bought and sold and shipped away at a moment's notice:
All, with the exception of Lollo—umpires don't rate making the agate when their lives change—have appeared in the agate multiple times during their careers. Schwinden appeared eleven times...during 2012 alone. Their stories are symbolic of what life is like for most baseball players. Only the most gifted and fortunate make it to the major leagues and then stay there until the day they retire.
Sounds like a writing career, too, doesn't it? Only a rare few build steady publishing careers, or establish a recognizable name. For each one of those, many thousands more will never publish, or only manage a brief taste. Many of those will continue working diligently, each book hardly moving the needle, each contract getting smaller; many will quit, realizing how handily the deck has been stacked against their ever succeeding.
Klinkenborg's list included "a large advance," but I imagine that particular bullet could mean any publishing peak writers dream of. A multi-book deal; landing their own literary agent; reaching a bestseller list. Those things felt easily attainable to me when I was twenty and just getting my feet under me. A couple of decades later, I realize that any of them is rare to begin with, and if they happen once, there's no promise they'll ever happen again.
I worked for a long time before my first novel was published (Eleanor, in 2016), and I also felt that moment would just be the first in a long line of great moments. Don't get me wrong: I'm grateful for the little peaks I've climbed so far. But I'm grateful they've adjusted my perspective and expectations as much as they have. Allowing those peaks to be your goals is one of the surest ways to poison a writing career.
Better, perhaps, to bring one's gaze down from the horizon, to the words in front of you. By that I don't mean to abandon goals; merely to focus on the things you can control. Because there are dozens and dozens of those things, and chasing them will run you ragged.
As Klinkenborg puts it:
How do you begin to write? Look for a sentence that interests you. A sentence that might begin the piece. Don't look too hard. Just try out some sentences. Lots of them. See how they sound.
✏️ Until the next time,
Jg
P.S. If you haven't yet signed up to receive The Dark Age letters, here's how to do so. Last week's letter was about "cardigan" sci-fi (how this futuristic tale I'm building squares with a lived-in, less-than-glossy world) and how the novel might, without my intending to, relate to the pandemic year we're still living through.