Wrong Reasons
Once upon a time, long before I was ever published, I was talking with a friend about things we’d like to do someday, and I confessed that I wanted to write a novel, and even showed him a few chapters. The friend allowed as how he wanted to write a novel, too (which seemed odd, as he read maybe one novel per year, if that, but OK, maybe he was one of those people who can’t admit to liking fiction in public).
About a week later, said friend showed up proudly with three single-spaced pages that he said were the opening of his mystery novel, which our conversation had inspired him to begin. I gave him suitably envious congratulations and asked to see the rest of it when or as he got it written.
I never saw another word.
A year or so later, I met another gentleman who, on hearing that my novel was out under submission, said rather sadly that he, too, should be a writer – all his friends said so. Even his mother said so, ever since he wrote a couple of humorous bits for his high school literary magazine. And he had this great idea for a story.
By then I was a little wiser, and I told him that if he wanted to write it, then he should. He went off, much encouraged, and came back a few days later with quite a reasonable draft of a first chapter.
I’ve never seen another word of that one, either.
I was thinking about these two people from thirty-plus years ago, because I was recently reading an article urging everyone to support people who want to write. Apparently all anyone needs to write a brilliant novel is a little encouragement from their friends.
Supporting would-be writers, though, is not really about cheerleading. It’s about giving the writer what he or she needs, and different people have different needs. My first friend, I now realize, was simply proving to himself that whatever I did, he could do, too. That was enough to carry him through three opening pages, but no farther…and telling him “This is a great story; you should finish it” did not provide him with any motivation to actually sit down and write, because he did not want to write. He wanted to prove something, and telling him that what he’d written was good was enough proof as far as he was concerned. (Also, as long as he’d written a good three-page opening, he didn’t have to go any farther and take the chance that his middle would perhaps not be quite as good.)
In some cases, saying “I think you’d be a great writer” or “I love that story idea; you should write it” are welcomed encouragement; in the case of my second friend, they were perceived as pressure. He, too, didn’t really want to write; what he wanted was to make his friends, his family, and his mother proud and happy by doing something they all said he would be good at and should do. He’d have been happier pursuing the music career that he loved but that none of them were interested in encouraging him to do.
There are, however, plenty of would-be writers who can use a bit of support. The real question is: What kind? Some people are good with a little cheerleading; others automatically discount it as mere social politeness. What they need is something more concrete in the way of support. This could be anything from sending a daily “Have you written your page today?” e-mail to taking the writer out for a weekly or monthly dinner-and-venting session to offering to proofread chapters or put together a research reading list on the habits of elephants.
The way you find out what kind of support a particular writer would find useful is, you ask them. I have one good writer friend who absolutely positively never ever ever wants to be asked “How is the book coming?” or “How’s the writing going?” I have another friend who wants to be asked “So, what chapter are you on now?” every single time we meet. I know this because I asked; the first one feels pressured by even small references to her work; the second one is energized by the interest (and feels pressured, but in a good way).
And some people will never find any encouragement or support to be useful, because they don’t really want to write. They want something else: to please friends, to prove something, to show off, to “be a writer.” Fundamentally, they don’t need encouragement; they need better reasons.
And reasons have to come from inside you.
