A good friend of mine recently quit writing. She was a member of my critique group and I learned so much from her about the rules and techniques of the craft. I always looked forward to our meetings every week and enjoyed talking books with her.
What’s so tragic is that she’s incredibly talented. She’s written a thriller that, I thought, rivaled and even exceeded some of the brand-name authors you can pick up at your local bookstore. So what happened? There were several reasons why she came to her decision, but the last time she came to our group, she boiled it down to, “I haven’t written anything in weeks and I don’t really feel guilty about it.”
The more I see and read, I’ve come to think that a great writing career doesn’t necessarily go to those with the most talent. A quote by Sophia Loren bears this out. She once said, “Getting ahead in a difficult profession requires avid faith in yourself. That is why some people with mediocre talent, but with great inner drive, go much further than people with vastly superior talent.”
It’s sad to say, but I’ve known others, just as talented as my friend or any other published writer, who have quit. It’s easy to understand why. There is only so much rejection a person can take and writing demands lot of time that can be spent on more worthwhile or productive pursuits such as spending time with your family. And just because a person has spent hours composing something doesn’t mean she has something pretty to show for it. With writing the work is never done. I look at things I’ve written in the past and wince because I think, “Man, I could have written that so much better.” Or “Damn, I used the word media, the plural, when I meant medium, the singular.”
There is a part of me that thinks it would be really great to be a house painter or a cake decorator. With those jobs you see the results of your work and have something beautiful to show for it at the end. And if you’ve done a lousy job, it’s readily apparent. A page full of weak verbs, a plot that doesn’t go anywhere, and insipid characters are harder to spot.
I really hope my friend, after taking some time off, comes back. Some people need to take a break and reevaluate things. About every two or three months I’ll get in a funk, which is usually spurred by a rejection letter, trouble with plotting, or unclear character goal and motivation, and I’ll ask the heavens, “What the hell am I doing this for?” Usually the frustration is short lived and I always come back. In my case, what else would I do? I wouldn’t truly be satisfied doing anything else.
© 2008 – 2009, Lisa Pawlowski. All rights reserved.
The post Don’t Let the Bastards Get You Down appeared first on CultureFeast.