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| Image by me. |
Very recently, a writer asked me to be honest about whether he should continue to pursue writing or not. It’s not the
first time I’ve been asked that question. It always catches me very off guard,
but it does make me want to say what follows:
I’m really not the one you should be
asking.
It would be the height of arrogance and stupidity for
me—or anyone else—to suggest someone not pursue writing. We all start
somewhere, and we all have quite a learning
curve. Everybody. If we write, it’s because we are writers. And so we must write (or paint or sculpt or garden
or whatever) or shrivel up and die a bitter, strangled creative/spiritual
death.
But should we ‘pursue’ it…which I
assume really means ‘pursue publication’?
When I was a younger, less experienced
editor (and probably thought I knew more than I did, as is natural), I worked with
a gentleman who was determined to be an author. He was incredibly eager, earnest,
and gung-ho, but he just seemed to be starting in a difficult place. His work
seemed a bit… well, unpublishable. But he just wanted to keep trying, no matter what the critique.
And so he did.
We kept working together, multiple
drafts of first one book and then
another, both of us learning much along the way. Beneath the unpublishable veneer
of what he was doing, there was something wonderful and inspired and rich in
what he thought and felt and cared about. But it was just all coming out in ways
that were not working at all. In truth, I didn’t think his chances of ever getting
published were very good. I was almost certain he wouldn’t, in fact, even though
I wanted it for him. But he loved it and wanted it for himself, and that’s all
he saw in front of him (or so it seemed to me). So no matter what, he just kept
on.
I don’t know what ups and downs he
went through on his private journey as a writer, but I guess they’re the ups and downs
we all go through. The self-doubt and the frustration, the elation and late nights.
All I saw was his consistent drive, the revising, the eagerness, the upbeat
attitude, the desire, the focus, and the pleasant, grateful willingness to listen
intently, to learn every single thing he could. When he was ready he let go of
ideas he’d tried and which he now understood weren't working. He tried new things that incorporated new knowledge. He
was willing and ego-free and hardworking.
And he quickly proved me wrong. He grew. His work became good, then really good (in my humble opinion). It was amazing and wonderful to watch. He soon did what I had not
managed to do at that point: he found a publisher who wanted his book, signed the
contract, and produced a very saleable story with a lovely heart and appealing vehicle.
I’ve never seen a writer with such a short journey to (traditional) publication.
(Sure, it took years, but not even close
to double digits like most of us.)
He might well have wondered if he’d
ever be a published writer. He never discussed that with me. Yet he knew he would, no matter how long or
how hard the journey. He was the only one he needed to ask.
