Misfitting In
There are two key facts of the writerly existence that I think people struggle with (especially the ones attempting it): 1) it's lonely; 2) it's masochistic.
"Writing is a lonely job. Having someone who believes in you makes a lot of difference. They don't have to make speeches. Just believing is usually enough." ~Stephen King
Now, here's the thing for me regarding the first one. I'm not bothered by the loneliness of writing. It has never bothered me. I'm well-suited by temperament to do the work. It's part of the discipline.
But I think plenty of people who style themselves writers aren't suited to the profession by temperament. I'm only judging by what I see them chattering about on Twitter (an app that's positively lousy with writers of all stripes -- from excellent to absolute hacks).
Anyway, Twitter has become a place where writers commiserate -- they want to be known as writers, seen as writers, talk to other writers (or to anyone, for that matter), who'll help them feel less alone with the work.
Not to be a scold, but the work is the point of being a true writer -- you must live with your words, your worlds, your characters. That's a key part of the discipline. Just you and the blank pages you need to take the time and energy to fill with your vision.
Most true writers are compelled to write. That is, if you stop writing, you feel like you're somehow incomplete. The tourists? They can (and do) walk away from it without consequence.
No true writer can ever do that. And the tourists, the wannabes, the dilettantes -- they'd all chafe at me even saying "true writer" at all. They'd say they're all true writers.
But not everybody is. Just like there are true musicians, true painters, true sculptors, true actors, true poets, there are also true writers. Those are the folks who can't live without their words, and who're able to create compelling works of fiction, again and again and again.
Of course, I always wonder if one can be a true writer if nobody reads your work. It's the proverbial tree falling in the forest -- is a book real if nobody reads it? It is, obviously. An unread book, to the writer who wrote it, is kind of like a ghost, or an uncast spell.
Which brings me to the masochism at the heart of writing. There are an array of writerly agonies one must endure -- the peril of the empty page; the time and energy one expends writing when one could be doing literally anything else; the tyranny of endless rejection; the agony of the unread book I mentioned above; the uncertainty that what you write will even reach anyone; the economic peril inherent in writing (never a secure occupation for the non-rich); there's also the pain of not knowing whether your work is any good or not (or, perhaps worse, thinking it's good but nobody seems to like or care about it).
There's even the dissatisfaction that writers can face in the disrespect they can endure. There was a brief time in the last century when writers might've been respected, but generally, the reaction from most is "Oh. Huh. What have you written?" (with the unasked question being "Why haven't I heard of you?")
Additionally, there are countless people out there who think they can write (because, you know, it's words -- everybody knows words, everybody has a story to tell), so there's a devaluation of what a true writer does.
Writers (good or bad) are true masochists, because we undertake a profession that will leave nearly all of us wrung out and ruined. The truest among us continue, despite this baleful reality, but it takes a toll on any who undertake it.
The number of people who wish to be seen as writers far exceeds the number of people who are actually true writers, toiling away in isolation and obscurity, hoping to do justice to their characters, the worlds they're creating, and hoping upon hope to be able to reach readers with their words.
No wonder so many take refuge in the ephemeral Twitter, to float on a sea of chattering flummery, hoping for recognition and refuge.
"We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master." ~Ernest Hemingway
"Writing is a lonely job. Having someone who believes in you makes a lot of difference. They don't have to make speeches. Just believing is usually enough." ~Stephen King
Now, here's the thing for me regarding the first one. I'm not bothered by the loneliness of writing. It has never bothered me. I'm well-suited by temperament to do the work. It's part of the discipline.
But I think plenty of people who style themselves writers aren't suited to the profession by temperament. I'm only judging by what I see them chattering about on Twitter (an app that's positively lousy with writers of all stripes -- from excellent to absolute hacks).
Anyway, Twitter has become a place where writers commiserate -- they want to be known as writers, seen as writers, talk to other writers (or to anyone, for that matter), who'll help them feel less alone with the work.
Not to be a scold, but the work is the point of being a true writer -- you must live with your words, your worlds, your characters. That's a key part of the discipline. Just you and the blank pages you need to take the time and energy to fill with your vision.
Most true writers are compelled to write. That is, if you stop writing, you feel like you're somehow incomplete. The tourists? They can (and do) walk away from it without consequence.
No true writer can ever do that. And the tourists, the wannabes, the dilettantes -- they'd all chafe at me even saying "true writer" at all. They'd say they're all true writers.
But not everybody is. Just like there are true musicians, true painters, true sculptors, true actors, true poets, there are also true writers. Those are the folks who can't live without their words, and who're able to create compelling works of fiction, again and again and again.
Of course, I always wonder if one can be a true writer if nobody reads your work. It's the proverbial tree falling in the forest -- is a book real if nobody reads it? It is, obviously. An unread book, to the writer who wrote it, is kind of like a ghost, or an uncast spell.
Which brings me to the masochism at the heart of writing. There are an array of writerly agonies one must endure -- the peril of the empty page; the time and energy one expends writing when one could be doing literally anything else; the tyranny of endless rejection; the agony of the unread book I mentioned above; the uncertainty that what you write will even reach anyone; the economic peril inherent in writing (never a secure occupation for the non-rich); there's also the pain of not knowing whether your work is any good or not (or, perhaps worse, thinking it's good but nobody seems to like or care about it).
There's even the dissatisfaction that writers can face in the disrespect they can endure. There was a brief time in the last century when writers might've been respected, but generally, the reaction from most is "Oh. Huh. What have you written?" (with the unasked question being "Why haven't I heard of you?")
Additionally, there are countless people out there who think they can write (because, you know, it's words -- everybody knows words, everybody has a story to tell), so there's a devaluation of what a true writer does.
Writers (good or bad) are true masochists, because we undertake a profession that will leave nearly all of us wrung out and ruined. The truest among us continue, despite this baleful reality, but it takes a toll on any who undertake it.
The number of people who wish to be seen as writers far exceeds the number of people who are actually true writers, toiling away in isolation and obscurity, hoping to do justice to their characters, the worlds they're creating, and hoping upon hope to be able to reach readers with their words.
No wonder so many take refuge in the ephemeral Twitter, to float on a sea of chattering flummery, hoping for recognition and refuge.
"We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master." ~Ernest Hemingway
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