Seeking to be a One Term Writer
No matter what their political affiliation or lack thereof, most people are irritated by the fact that our elected officials seem to spend more time, creative energy, and enthusiasm campaigning for the next term rather than delivering what was promised for the current term. When I watch them on TV I want to shout, "Just get to work!"
Why would we re-elect anyone to do a job they aren't faithfully doing right now? Businessman Bob Johnson, in an interview with CBS news, urged today's politicians to, "simply sacrifice your political job for the job that American people want you to do. That's as simple as that. Be willing to be a one-term congressperson. Be willing to be a one-term president, be willing to be a one-term senator. Take that position. That the issues before the country are far greater than me returning to Washington and starting the same old treadmill over again."
It struck me, then, that is often how we writers work. We, too, have "terms." Most of us write from contract to contract, with no promise that there will be a job after we type "The End" at the conclusion of a manuscript, or at the submission of a short story, blog, or article. This can lead to worry, over-thinking and planning the next move, strategizing to save or build a career. We can compulsively check our amazon rankings, our goodreads reviews (or other authors'), or have too much concern about if everything we're doing right now is good enough to lead to another job next term. Worst of all, it steals our joy and drains current creative energy that we could be pouring into the project right in front of us, you know, the one with the ticking clock/deadline. The one we were so eager to write when we proposed it!
I can't remember who offered this writing insight, but it's brilliant: When you begin to hoard your best ideas, phrases, time, and excitement for the next work, you're in trouble. They need to go into THIS book, this proposal, this idea, this article, this paragraph, everything that's on my screen (or should be!) today. When I'm worrying about my career, my mind is not free to explore the story I'm telling right now, which leeches it of its life. This nudges writers toward self-fulfilling the doom prophecy we're concerned about in the first place. Instead, I must press on and trust that the manna will fall tomorrow, too.
I want to tell politicians: Do the job you've already said you were going to do. Follow through and meet the promises that you've already made; I believed in you when you spoke them, I caught your vision. I know you have the right stuff. If you deliver on that promise, I'll be eager to elect you for the next term, even if you're not perfect. If not, I'll have to move on.
I suspect my readers might be thinking the very same thing.
