There is a self you will only know if you cross the bridge you have avoided your whole life. This is the bridge you believed you could never cross. It was a bridge you believed was not strong enough, was blown by winds too strong, or led to another world about which you knew too little, or had perhaps heard too much.
To cross this, you must go alone. It is only wide enough for one. In fact, this may have been what kept you from crossing in the first place. When you travel across this bridge, you will be journeying into silence, into the choice you believed was never a choice.
That is where you will meet yourself for the first time; that is where your soul resides - within silence, at the far end of a narrow bridge, calling to you to choose a path that you had long believed led to death.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Twin Devils
I discovered the power of art when I was boy. The story goes that as an infant I curled up against the stereo speaker when Beethoven was playing.
Once I was old enough to walk upright, art become my religion. Novels, poems, movies, music, plays - all of these distilled life down to its essence, asking the audience, and myself, to only focus on what truly mattered, which, in almost all cases, was the supremacy of the human soul.
And so I would become an artist. I would become an artist first, because I wished to distill MY life down to its essence just as other artist had done for theirs; and second, because I wanted to give someone else the gift I felt I had been given by e. e. cummings, Tolkein, Beethoven and all the rest.
But then comes faith, and his noble second, courage. Without these, you cannot get where you wish to go. Why? Because once I was on my own, out of the shelter of childhood, then came the issue of money. And then also came the issue of approval, which I dubbed fame. These two devils arrive in the form of questions. What if I can't make any money distilling my life down to its essence? Or what if I make money, but I am not deemed "great?" Without both of these, how will my body and ego survive?
Such is the choice of every hero, or course, be they artist, politician, or lawyer. At some point, the question comes, "But how will I survive?" The "I" is always the body and the ego. How? But there are no certainties, and the so the answer will always be, "I don't know," and the twin devils are satisfied.
Fear knocked at the door; faith answered, and there was no one there. There is no other answer. Every artist, every hero, every soul, is faced with this question. What if ? Only faith gets you through. A better question to ask is, "What if Martin Luther King hadn't marched? What if the Beatles had stayed lovable and cute? What if Bob Dylan thought, 'I can't sing'? What if Hemmingway had thought, 'No one wants to read a book without a lot of adjectives'?"
You are Hemmingway. You are Martin Luther King. You are Bob Dylan, and Lennon, and McCartney. You are all of them, and the question will be asked of you. What will you answer?
Once I was old enough to walk upright, art become my religion. Novels, poems, movies, music, plays - all of these distilled life down to its essence, asking the audience, and myself, to only focus on what truly mattered, which, in almost all cases, was the supremacy of the human soul.
And so I would become an artist. I would become an artist first, because I wished to distill MY life down to its essence just as other artist had done for theirs; and second, because I wanted to give someone else the gift I felt I had been given by e. e. cummings, Tolkein, Beethoven and all the rest.
But then comes faith, and his noble second, courage. Without these, you cannot get where you wish to go. Why? Because once I was on my own, out of the shelter of childhood, then came the issue of money. And then also came the issue of approval, which I dubbed fame. These two devils arrive in the form of questions. What if I can't make any money distilling my life down to its essence? Or what if I make money, but I am not deemed "great?" Without both of these, how will my body and ego survive?
Such is the choice of every hero, or course, be they artist, politician, or lawyer. At some point, the question comes, "But how will I survive?" The "I" is always the body and the ego. How? But there are no certainties, and the so the answer will always be, "I don't know," and the twin devils are satisfied.
Fear knocked at the door; faith answered, and there was no one there. There is no other answer. Every artist, every hero, every soul, is faced with this question. What if ? Only faith gets you through. A better question to ask is, "What if Martin Luther King hadn't marched? What if the Beatles had stayed lovable and cute? What if Bob Dylan thought, 'I can't sing'? What if Hemmingway had thought, 'No one wants to read a book without a lot of adjectives'?"
You are Hemmingway. You are Martin Luther King. You are Bob Dylan, and Lennon, and McCartney. You are all of them, and the question will be asked of you. What will you answer?
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Skill Level
Technical skill, if applied with integrity, rises to the level of the intention of the artist. Thus, for Luciano Pavarotti to achieve his artistic intention - that is, to use the human voice with same range and quality of sound as any other orchestral instrument - he had to train and bring his technical mastery to a level where that was possible. And even beyond that, Pavarotti set FOR HIMSELF his own unique level, a level no one else could define, to which he pushed himself and his technique.
By comparison, Bob Dylan had a very different artistic intention. His voice, while not nearly as capable of range or purity of sound as Pavarotti, nonetheless served as an ideal vehicle for his songs. Dylan set an intention for his music, and his skill rose to meet it and the outcome, for many - most notably Dylan himself - was complete. Whether the work moves this one or that one is not the point. The intention was fulfilled, and there is nothing more Dylan or any other artist can expect.
Where a work "fails" is where the artist does not push his skill to the level of his intention, or where his intention is too vague to begin with. Your intention cannot be to be as good as Bob Dylan or Dylan Thomas. Your intention cannot be to write something that would "impress the critics," nor to sell a million books. These are merely outcomes, not an artistic intention.
By the same token, you must be patient and disciplined to push your craft to the level necessary to complete your vision. Only you will know when this has occurred. If you give up before the intention has been reached, if don't push your craft, if you imitate past successes, then the work will not meet its intention, and will feel incomplete. Incomplete work will be criticized for all sorts of reasons, none of which, by and large, will be accurate.
Your intention must be your unique, aesthetic vision. Everyone is born with one, not everyone is willing to pursue theirs with complete integrity and faith. If you pursue your own voice, there is no model for you to compare yourself to, and thus you are setting off alone into the forest of your own imagination. Go on.
But the question must never be, "Am I a good writer?" The only question is, "Have I written what I meant to say?" And do not wonder if you "can." You would not have been handed a challenge greater than your capabilities. You were born with it. That is the deal, and it's a fair one. Now you do your part and speak what you were meant to speak.
By comparison, Bob Dylan had a very different artistic intention. His voice, while not nearly as capable of range or purity of sound as Pavarotti, nonetheless served as an ideal vehicle for his songs. Dylan set an intention for his music, and his skill rose to meet it and the outcome, for many - most notably Dylan himself - was complete. Whether the work moves this one or that one is not the point. The intention was fulfilled, and there is nothing more Dylan or any other artist can expect.
Where a work "fails" is where the artist does not push his skill to the level of his intention, or where his intention is too vague to begin with. Your intention cannot be to be as good as Bob Dylan or Dylan Thomas. Your intention cannot be to write something that would "impress the critics," nor to sell a million books. These are merely outcomes, not an artistic intention.
By the same token, you must be patient and disciplined to push your craft to the level necessary to complete your vision. Only you will know when this has occurred. If you give up before the intention has been reached, if don't push your craft, if you imitate past successes, then the work will not meet its intention, and will feel incomplete. Incomplete work will be criticized for all sorts of reasons, none of which, by and large, will be accurate.
Your intention must be your unique, aesthetic vision. Everyone is born with one, not everyone is willing to pursue theirs with complete integrity and faith. If you pursue your own voice, there is no model for you to compare yourself to, and thus you are setting off alone into the forest of your own imagination. Go on.
But the question must never be, "Am I a good writer?" The only question is, "Have I written what I meant to say?" And do not wonder if you "can." You would not have been handed a challenge greater than your capabilities. You were born with it. That is the deal, and it's a fair one. Now you do your part and speak what you were meant to speak.
Monday, March 12, 2007
The Only Security
The only security is creation. Rivers run dry, factories close, loved ones die, nations collapse - and yet there is no ruin. The fertility of life itself remains undimmed by loss. The ashes of the forest fire are the bed of new life, the hollowed storefront becomes a coffee house, the widower finds love in the spinster's arms.
Creation is life's only constant. And yet we live every moment at the edge of the universe, straining to see through the opaque future. The darkness there is as absolute as black water, offering you its faceted reflection, yet moving away from you with every step. Seek another current. The current of creation runs through you, for you are life's tributary. The security lies in your creation. That is the force that moves. The creation is the present and future.
You may curse uncertainty in the fallow field of despair. Where are the landmarks and road signs? How wide is this ocean? And yet if all were known, what would there be to make? It is to that great Unknown that you offer the fruits of your creation. The future is not unknown and unfriendly, it is open and limitless. It is the perfect receptacle for whatever you create. You offer and it receives, for there is always room for more.
No one wants to know how he will die any more than he want to be told how he will live. Weep for your loneliness, pull the shutters to the storm, rage against indifference, but when the clouds have dried, celebrate creation. Without darkness we would never discover light.
Creation is life's only constant. And yet we live every moment at the edge of the universe, straining to see through the opaque future. The darkness there is as absolute as black water, offering you its faceted reflection, yet moving away from you with every step. Seek another current. The current of creation runs through you, for you are life's tributary. The security lies in your creation. That is the force that moves. The creation is the present and future.
You may curse uncertainty in the fallow field of despair. Where are the landmarks and road signs? How wide is this ocean? And yet if all were known, what would there be to make? It is to that great Unknown that you offer the fruits of your creation. The future is not unknown and unfriendly, it is open and limitless. It is the perfect receptacle for whatever you create. You offer and it receives, for there is always room for more.
No one wants to know how he will die any more than he want to be told how he will live. Weep for your loneliness, pull the shutters to the storm, rage against indifference, but when the clouds have dried, celebrate creation. Without darkness we would never discover light.
Friday, March 9, 2007
A Loyal Companion
Despair will always be your most loyal companion. He is never far, and you do not have to call loud for him to come. Just a thought, and he is there, and he will stay as long as you ask him to.
In fact, he may stay longer. You will become accustomed to his company and not trust yourself without it. Despair is there to offer his ungilded opinion and keep you from harm's way. He will remind you how you had thought you did not need his advice, and look at the disappointment you suffered.
Despair knows disappointment well. Whenever you suffer disappointment, he will be there to see if his services are needed. He will come armed with certainty. He will promise you no more disappointment for the rest of your life. Who knows what will ever be? he says. If you put any faith in that which you cannot see, disappointment is inevitable. There is, therefore, only one solution.
That is why you must politely decline the advice of any councilor who councils anything other than, "Go." He whispers forever against that which cannot be seen, and all creation is unseen except in the mind of the creator. Life itself is a creation, not some maze to be navigated. Despair will hint that he knows the way through the maze, but the maze is a fiction. The future is infinitely open. You must choose. And choose you must faith over despair.
Faith is more loyal still because it calls you on and trusts you. Tell me where to go, faith asks. Faith reminds you that you are the captain. It's a boat for one. Despair should never be a welcome traveler. He will come aboard as a fellow sailor but always be crying for a port. Onward! Despair can walk the plank.
In fact, he may stay longer. You will become accustomed to his company and not trust yourself without it. Despair is there to offer his ungilded opinion and keep you from harm's way. He will remind you how you had thought you did not need his advice, and look at the disappointment you suffered.
Despair knows disappointment well. Whenever you suffer disappointment, he will be there to see if his services are needed. He will come armed with certainty. He will promise you no more disappointment for the rest of your life. Who knows what will ever be? he says. If you put any faith in that which you cannot see, disappointment is inevitable. There is, therefore, only one solution.
That is why you must politely decline the advice of any councilor who councils anything other than, "Go." He whispers forever against that which cannot be seen, and all creation is unseen except in the mind of the creator. Life itself is a creation, not some maze to be navigated. Despair will hint that he knows the way through the maze, but the maze is a fiction. The future is infinitely open. You must choose. And choose you must faith over despair.
Faith is more loyal still because it calls you on and trusts you. Tell me where to go, faith asks. Faith reminds you that you are the captain. It's a boat for one. Despair should never be a welcome traveler. He will come aboard as a fellow sailor but always be crying for a port. Onward! Despair can walk the plank.
Thursday, March 8, 2007
Compassion for the Critic
Our journeys are all marked by solitude. When the knights sought the grail they became lost if they followed the footsteps of any of another knight that went before them. So too is it with us all. Always when we set off, it is away from others - whether we like it or not, we are ineluctably unique. This can be a source of both great pride and anxiety, neither of which are any use.
The critic has taken as his job the role of publicly defining his taste. Yet everyone has taste. We cannot help it. We are forever expressing who we are by deciding what we are not. "I just don't care for jazz." "I could live without reality television." Not everyone is paid to express it. The critics are paid because we sometimes find the job of deciding for ourselves exhausting, intimidating, or lonely. And so along comes the critic, and if we have not made up our mind, and he is convincing enough, we will have found ourselves an opinion - his; if we already agreed with him, then we rejoice, both because it is nice to have the company, and because it is satisfying to have our opinions validated authoritatively; and if we disagree with him, then we can rail against him, and in so doing are given a great gift - the opportunity to clarify for ourselves why we believe what we believe.
But for the critic, it cannot be easy to be asked again and again for an opinion. It cannot be easy to resist the temptation to believe your opinion is more valuable than another's; it cannot be easy, given this power, to slip into scolding or mocking. How tempting, given the illusionary power of the critic, to attempt to silence the voices he finds aesthetically displeasing.
And how frightening, perhaps, to wonder if your entire body of work could be disregarded in one simple sentence:
"Well, that's your opinion."
The critic has taken as his job the role of publicly defining his taste. Yet everyone has taste. We cannot help it. We are forever expressing who we are by deciding what we are not. "I just don't care for jazz." "I could live without reality television." Not everyone is paid to express it. The critics are paid because we sometimes find the job of deciding for ourselves exhausting, intimidating, or lonely. And so along comes the critic, and if we have not made up our mind, and he is convincing enough, we will have found ourselves an opinion - his; if we already agreed with him, then we rejoice, both because it is nice to have the company, and because it is satisfying to have our opinions validated authoritatively; and if we disagree with him, then we can rail against him, and in so doing are given a great gift - the opportunity to clarify for ourselves why we believe what we believe.
But for the critic, it cannot be easy to be asked again and again for an opinion. It cannot be easy to resist the temptation to believe your opinion is more valuable than another's; it cannot be easy, given this power, to slip into scolding or mocking. How tempting, given the illusionary power of the critic, to attempt to silence the voices he finds aesthetically displeasing.
And how frightening, perhaps, to wonder if your entire body of work could be disregarded in one simple sentence:
"Well, that's your opinion."
If You Want To Be Free
If you want to be free, do not talk to me about how high the prison walls are. Do no talk to me about how cruel and strong the jailer is. If you want to be free, do not tell me how long you have been in jail, or how many others are in jail. If you want to be free, do not complain about the bad food in the jail, or the small cell, or how no man could be expected to live like this.
If you want to be free, do not wait for a pardon. Do not wait for the jail to burn down. If you want to be free, do not tell me about all the escapes that have gone awry. Do not tell me how dangerous the road outside the jail is. If you want to be free, do not tell me how many others are in jail. Do not tell me how the system is fixed, how no one catches a break, how you either get lucky or you don't.
And if you want to be free, do not tell me how lonely your freedom might be. Do no tell me how no one will want you once you are over the wall. If you want to be free, do not cry for yourself in the night. Do not form friendships around misery, clubs of opposition.
If you want to be free, if that's what you want, walk out of the jail. The jailer does not hold the key. The walls are not high. If you want to be free, walk out. There is no key. The jailer is only there to convince you the cell is locked. He is very good at it, and you have been a willing listener. If you want to be free, the door has always been open.
Walk out along the road you choose. If you want company, walk out in broad daylight, through the yard, below every window. Then, perhaps, others will follow. Do not worry about the jailor. Do not hate him either. If you leave and others follow, one after the other after the other, the tide will soon push all the rest out, and then the jailer will find himself alone, and then he too must follow, or be left behind.
If you want to be free, do not wait for a pardon. Do not wait for the jail to burn down. If you want to be free, do not tell me about all the escapes that have gone awry. Do not tell me how dangerous the road outside the jail is. If you want to be free, do not tell me how many others are in jail. Do not tell me how the system is fixed, how no one catches a break, how you either get lucky or you don't.
And if you want to be free, do not tell me how lonely your freedom might be. Do no tell me how no one will want you once you are over the wall. If you want to be free, do not cry for yourself in the night. Do not form friendships around misery, clubs of opposition.
If you want to be free, if that's what you want, walk out of the jail. The jailer does not hold the key. The walls are not high. If you want to be free, walk out. There is no key. The jailer is only there to convince you the cell is locked. He is very good at it, and you have been a willing listener. If you want to be free, the door has always been open.
Walk out along the road you choose. If you want company, walk out in broad daylight, through the yard, below every window. Then, perhaps, others will follow. Do not worry about the jailor. Do not hate him either. If you leave and others follow, one after the other after the other, the tide will soon push all the rest out, and then the jailer will find himself alone, and then he too must follow, or be left behind.
Monday, March 5, 2007
The Allure of Despair
The root of all despair is false certainty. It is very tempting, in the course of your journey, to cast about for hard evidence that you are headed in the right direction and that soon all will be well. You will ask a friend or teacher how you are doing, you will compare what you have done to what others you admire have done, you will view some recent success as clear sign that future success is guaranteed.
All these choices lead eventually to despair. Just as it is not possible to look in the mirror and know with certainty what any other person will ever think when they look on that same face, so too is it impossible to find in the present some definite, some absolute, documentable proof that what you wish to occur ever will. So as you look into the waters of the present for proof of the future, the reflecting light and the moving current shows you all the facets of any idea or action, and eventually you choose the worst of all interpretations.
You choose the worst, because THAT is definite. The worst is always the end. The worst is always the apocalypse. So you say, "This work is no good. I'll never be published." Or, "I'm a loser, she'll never love me. No one will ever love me." Whatever the port, you decide it cannot be reached. Thus, the worst always ends the journey, and in so doing ends the uncertainty, which can feel like suffering if it is not embraced.
Do not wait for all to be well. All is well right now, it always has been, it always will be. There is no cosmic fluxuation in the well being of the world or of you. There is only the perception. The world, and you, remain unchanged. So to with your work. Ask only, "Is it what I wanted to say?" If the answer is yes, you are done. If it is no, then there is more work yet to do. That is all. No more, no less. All is well.
And always remember that no step can ever be taken without some faith. You can declare it all over, the end of the world, and yet, barring suicide, you must still wake up the next day and face uncertainty again. Life calls out to you with every wish, every thought, every dream to move forward without knowledge and with an open and hopeful heart.
All these choices lead eventually to despair. Just as it is not possible to look in the mirror and know with certainty what any other person will ever think when they look on that same face, so too is it impossible to find in the present some definite, some absolute, documentable proof that what you wish to occur ever will. So as you look into the waters of the present for proof of the future, the reflecting light and the moving current shows you all the facets of any idea or action, and eventually you choose the worst of all interpretations.
You choose the worst, because THAT is definite. The worst is always the end. The worst is always the apocalypse. So you say, "This work is no good. I'll never be published." Or, "I'm a loser, she'll never love me. No one will ever love me." Whatever the port, you decide it cannot be reached. Thus, the worst always ends the journey, and in so doing ends the uncertainty, which can feel like suffering if it is not embraced.
Do not wait for all to be well. All is well right now, it always has been, it always will be. There is no cosmic fluxuation in the well being of the world or of you. There is only the perception. The world, and you, remain unchanged. So to with your work. Ask only, "Is it what I wanted to say?" If the answer is yes, you are done. If it is no, then there is more work yet to do. That is all. No more, no less. All is well.
And always remember that no step can ever be taken without some faith. You can declare it all over, the end of the world, and yet, barring suicide, you must still wake up the next day and face uncertainty again. Life calls out to you with every wish, every thought, every dream to move forward without knowledge and with an open and hopeful heart.
Saturday, March 3, 2007
Skill
Facility with your craft is necessary to cut to the core of what you want to express. But avoid the temptation, once you have developed sufficient mastery over your technique, to lean on your best tricks. If you do enough back-flips, people might laugh or applaud just as they would at any gymnast or juggler, but the tricks alone won't lead to transformation.
In the end, the technician is about himself. The audiences' admiration becomes, instead of transformative, merely a surrogate for what they would hope for themselves - that they need only become skilled enough at something, and they too could wear the mantle of Greatness.
Art, however, is beyond technique. It invites the reader, the listener, the viewer, into the experience, leaves room for him to invest his own imagination into the image, and in this way the art becomes not just the artist's but the audience's as well. The art does not belong to the artist or the audience completely, but is shared. The technique is the messenger, not the message.
It can be difficult to remember this. Applause is nice, and in a pinch, if you're deft enough, you can always pull a nice triple axel to distract the reader. Be generous. Your ego is here not to draw attention to you, but to allow you the courage to speak in your own way for God. Everyone has that right, but some of us have sought a bigger stage on which to do it.
Bill
In the end, the technician is about himself. The audiences' admiration becomes, instead of transformative, merely a surrogate for what they would hope for themselves - that they need only become skilled enough at something, and they too could wear the mantle of Greatness.
Art, however, is beyond technique. It invites the reader, the listener, the viewer, into the experience, leaves room for him to invest his own imagination into the image, and in this way the art becomes not just the artist's but the audience's as well. The art does not belong to the artist or the audience completely, but is shared. The technique is the messenger, not the message.
It can be difficult to remember this. Applause is nice, and in a pinch, if you're deft enough, you can always pull a nice triple axel to distract the reader. Be generous. Your ego is here not to draw attention to you, but to allow you the courage to speak in your own way for God. Everyone has that right, but some of us have sought a bigger stage on which to do it.
Bill
Friday, March 2, 2007
You Superstar
Here is a favorite quote of mine from John Lennon:
Who on earth do you think you are?
A superstar?
While right you are!
Everyone is a hero. A hero journeys into the unknown and returns a changed person with a precious gift. So can we all. This journey, whether alone at your desk with your work, across an ocean, or into a marriage, is always the same journey, the journey into your soul.
I cannot tell you who you will meet on your journey, but I can assure that others will tell you not to go, that it might be too dangerous. You say to them, if I do not go, who will? Or you will be told that you should go later, when you are better prepared. You say to them, I cannot prepare for what I cannot see, and no lens will ever be able to show me clearly where I am headed. Or they might say simply, you will fail. And you say to them, I will only fail if I turn back. Either way, it is my choice.
But understand that all the doubters and naysayers are all heroes themselves, asking, in their own ways, if they should start on their journeys. Meet them with love. They are waiting at the door to see if the road is safe. You head off on it. They will not get to see you reach your port, they will not know which paths you took, but they will have seen you leave, and perhaps that will be enough for them to think that they could leave too.
Bill
Who on earth do you think you are?
A superstar?
While right you are!
Everyone is a hero. A hero journeys into the unknown and returns a changed person with a precious gift. So can we all. This journey, whether alone at your desk with your work, across an ocean, or into a marriage, is always the same journey, the journey into your soul.
I cannot tell you who you will meet on your journey, but I can assure that others will tell you not to go, that it might be too dangerous. You say to them, if I do not go, who will? Or you will be told that you should go later, when you are better prepared. You say to them, I cannot prepare for what I cannot see, and no lens will ever be able to show me clearly where I am headed. Or they might say simply, you will fail. And you say to them, I will only fail if I turn back. Either way, it is my choice.
But understand that all the doubters and naysayers are all heroes themselves, asking, in their own ways, if they should start on their journeys. Meet them with love. They are waiting at the door to see if the road is safe. You head off on it. They will not get to see you reach your port, they will not know which paths you took, but they will have seen you leave, and perhaps that will be enough for them to think that they could leave too.
Bill
Thursday, March 1, 2007
Getting Published
This remains an unfortunate Holy Grail of all writers. I am here to tell you, it may not be what you think it is.
First of all, I encourage you to publish everything and anything you are ready to share with others. Being read is part and parcel with the drive to write. Whether we call ourselves writers or not, we all want to share what we have seen, for only we have seen it. No one in the history of the planet before you has ever lived exactly what you have lived. If you do not say what it is you have seen, who then will? You are the light through which Life shines, so it is up to you whether to pull the shade or throw open the curtains. So yes, publish. Publish, publish, publish. There is plenty of room for everyone.
But as you head out in that boat, do not be fooled into believing that whatever success or lack thereof with which you are met is somehow a concrete reflection of the value or what we often call the quality of the work. Rather, it is entirely a reflection of your belief in the work. I believe anything can be published if the writer believes in it completely and wholeheartedly, whether what has been written is The Waste Land or the next Harlequin Romance. The commercial success of a creation, therefore, lies entirely with its creator.
If this sounds Pollyanna, I ask you this: What is the harm in believing it is so? What good will come of believing a work will only be bought if it has met some external criteria of "good?" Who has set these criteria? Or what good could will come of believing that publication is some kind of capricious lottery, or that only a lucky few born with a predetermined quantity of Talent will ever be greeted with the open arms of editors and readers. If you are drawn to write, then you are meant to write, and it is only then up to you to write without fear and with as much honesty and compassion as possible. Just as there is a lover for every man or woman who wants one, there is a reader for every writer. What is the use in believing otherwise?
I will write more on this later.
Bill
First of all, I encourage you to publish everything and anything you are ready to share with others. Being read is part and parcel with the drive to write. Whether we call ourselves writers or not, we all want to share what we have seen, for only we have seen it. No one in the history of the planet before you has ever lived exactly what you have lived. If you do not say what it is you have seen, who then will? You are the light through which Life shines, so it is up to you whether to pull the shade or throw open the curtains. So yes, publish. Publish, publish, publish. There is plenty of room for everyone.
But as you head out in that boat, do not be fooled into believing that whatever success or lack thereof with which you are met is somehow a concrete reflection of the value or what we often call the quality of the work. Rather, it is entirely a reflection of your belief in the work. I believe anything can be published if the writer believes in it completely and wholeheartedly, whether what has been written is The Waste Land or the next Harlequin Romance. The commercial success of a creation, therefore, lies entirely with its creator.
If this sounds Pollyanna, I ask you this: What is the harm in believing it is so? What good will come of believing a work will only be bought if it has met some external criteria of "good?" Who has set these criteria? Or what good could will come of believing that publication is some kind of capricious lottery, or that only a lucky few born with a predetermined quantity of Talent will ever be greeted with the open arms of editors and readers. If you are drawn to write, then you are meant to write, and it is only then up to you to write without fear and with as much honesty and compassion as possible. Just as there is a lover for every man or woman who wants one, there is a reader for every writer. What is the use in believing otherwise?
I will write more on this later.
Bill
Faith
I didn't always think so, but I understand now that writing is about faith.
Faith can be a fairly loaded word if you are not an overly religious person. To me, faith is simply the willingness to proceed without evidence. In truth, there is barely any other way to proceed. The future is opaque, and was meant to be so. When you begin your day's writing, just as when you set off on any journey, you do not know what snares and pits and fortunes await you. You go because you believe it is worth going, and, hopefully, you have faith that you can get where you need to go.
The only question you must ask of any work is, "Is that what I want to say?" Don't wonder if it is what you SHOULD have said, if such-and-such Great Writer would have said it better, or if what you have to say is for some arcane reason Unpublishable. Only ask if it is what you wanted to say. Have faith that if you wanted to say it, then it is worth saying, and that only you know how best to say it.
No one else in the world knows what it is you must say, or how you must say it. I certainly don't. Agents and editors and teachers and friends and fathers and mothers might tell you otherwise, might fill your head with advice and directions and dos and don'ts, and some of the advice will be sound, will be based on years of experience and much wisdom and hard life lessons learned, but the truth remains none of them knows what it is you must say and how you must say it. Only you. You are alone. And so your only companion on this journey, in the end, is yourself and faith.
And me. I will be there with you too.
So go on, now. I'm sure you can make it.
Bill
Faith can be a fairly loaded word if you are not an overly religious person. To me, faith is simply the willingness to proceed without evidence. In truth, there is barely any other way to proceed. The future is opaque, and was meant to be so. When you begin your day's writing, just as when you set off on any journey, you do not know what snares and pits and fortunes await you. You go because you believe it is worth going, and, hopefully, you have faith that you can get where you need to go.
The only question you must ask of any work is, "Is that what I want to say?" Don't wonder if it is what you SHOULD have said, if such-and-such Great Writer would have said it better, or if what you have to say is for some arcane reason Unpublishable. Only ask if it is what you wanted to say. Have faith that if you wanted to say it, then it is worth saying, and that only you know how best to say it.
No one else in the world knows what it is you must say, or how you must say it. I certainly don't. Agents and editors and teachers and friends and fathers and mothers might tell you otherwise, might fill your head with advice and directions and dos and don'ts, and some of the advice will be sound, will be based on years of experience and much wisdom and hard life lessons learned, but the truth remains none of them knows what it is you must say and how you must say it. Only you. You are alone. And so your only companion on this journey, in the end, is yourself and faith.
And me. I will be there with you too.
So go on, now. I'm sure you can make it.
Bill
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