Passion is the Most Important Quality for a Writer
Every author has tips and advice on how to be better. But just because their routine sounds nothing like yours, doesn’t mean you are not as good as they are or are not a writer at all. I once read Ernest Hemingway’s ten rules for writing and only two of them applied to me. Instead of getting frustrated, I took it as a compliment that I’m a pretty little flower growing in the cracks of Brooklyn. As long as you have the passion to write, forget about all those things people say you have to do.
I've published over 150 articles and 7 books and have 5 more in the works. I’ve never worked for a newspaper nor do I have a journalism degree. Instead of an MFA gracing my walls I have an oversized Company guidon from my command days in the Third Infantry Division. I've written six feature-length screenplays but have never taken a screenwriting class. I haven’t read many books considered to be great (The Catcher in the Rye is still in my “to read” pile) and when authors name their inspirations, it’s a good bet I haven’t heard of them. I don’t go to writing seminars because there are few that interest me and even less that I can afford. I don’t belong to a writing group because the only time I went to one all they did was complain and I can’t stand to be in the company of whiners. I have no desire to be the subject of a book signing and abhor the thought of speaking publicly along with most human contact outside the inner circle of family and friends. I don’t hang rejection letters on my wall as trophies and re-start my twelve point, “I’m a good person even if they don’t appreciate me” program every time I get one.
If there are any golden rules of writing I don’t know them, nor do I know the difference between nominative pronouns and indifferent clauses. I’m not even certain either of those exist because English just confuses me, despite being a native speaker of it. I don’t know whether to heed the advice I hear or ignore it because it always seems contradictory. One month I’ll read an article entitled “the rules to get published” but the next month I’ll see one on “the rules I broke to get published.” I wear pro-America t-shirts with Chuck Taylor’s and say things writers wouldn’t dream of like “dude” and “what’s up bro?” I even taught my son the appropriate use of “hottie” when he was two. I scoff authors, calling them “kids who never stopped playing with dolls,” while secretly longing to walk among their elite crowd.
So if not a writer, then who am I (besides someone dealing with an identity crisis)? I’m the guy huddled maniacally over a computer wishing the day were twenty-eight hours long and my kids slept for twenty-four of them so I could write more. I wrote my first novel in four months and a screenplay in nineteen days working each one feverishly. I know my characters down to the most infinite detail, but also know nothing I write is ever good enough. I spend several hours a day dreaming of the stories I want to grace readers with and wondering when I’ll ever get the chance to since fiction is so hard to get published. I take note of the world around me and question how anything and everything will fit into a particular story, literally (I stopped traffic once to make note of the term “fish ladder”).
I get off on the satisfaction of moving a project from the “working” folder to the “completed” one. I don’t write to earn money because I’d rather see my name on a book jacket that I’m proud of than get paid (though I admit the Jaguar XKR convertible would look stunning on me, especially in midnight blue). I revel in the quiet spaces where I can create and pluck away until my keyboard melts. My loftiest goal is not to be called “Pulitzer Prize Winner,” but instead to give an acceptance speech for the Kiriyama Pacific Rim book prize, which few have ever even heard of. I enter writing contests in the hopes that someone will say, “this is really good stuff…dude.” I figure I’m one of two things: a naturally gifted, creative person with rough edges that publishers dream of discovering or a delusional moron whose foray into the guarded martial art of PUB-YU will end in someone talking me off a large structure that I don’t intend to BASE jump from.
So don’t get frustrated or alienated when a writer (especially one you look up to) describes their routine and you realize it’s nothing like yours. They are them. You are you. And your voice will never be like theirs. It will be yours. As it always should be.
Curmudgeonism: A Surly Man's Guide to Midlife
I've published over 150 articles and 7 books and have 5 more in the works. I’ve never worked for a newspaper nor do I have a journalism degree. Instead of an MFA gracing my walls I have an oversized Company guidon from my command days in the Third Infantry Division. I've written six feature-length screenplays but have never taken a screenwriting class. I haven’t read many books considered to be great (The Catcher in the Rye is still in my “to read” pile) and when authors name their inspirations, it’s a good bet I haven’t heard of them. I don’t go to writing seminars because there are few that interest me and even less that I can afford. I don’t belong to a writing group because the only time I went to one all they did was complain and I can’t stand to be in the company of whiners. I have no desire to be the subject of a book signing and abhor the thought of speaking publicly along with most human contact outside the inner circle of family and friends. I don’t hang rejection letters on my wall as trophies and re-start my twelve point, “I’m a good person even if they don’t appreciate me” program every time I get one.
If there are any golden rules of writing I don’t know them, nor do I know the difference between nominative pronouns and indifferent clauses. I’m not even certain either of those exist because English just confuses me, despite being a native speaker of it. I don’t know whether to heed the advice I hear or ignore it because it always seems contradictory. One month I’ll read an article entitled “the rules to get published” but the next month I’ll see one on “the rules I broke to get published.” I wear pro-America t-shirts with Chuck Taylor’s and say things writers wouldn’t dream of like “dude” and “what’s up bro?” I even taught my son the appropriate use of “hottie” when he was two. I scoff authors, calling them “kids who never stopped playing with dolls,” while secretly longing to walk among their elite crowd.
So if not a writer, then who am I (besides someone dealing with an identity crisis)? I’m the guy huddled maniacally over a computer wishing the day were twenty-eight hours long and my kids slept for twenty-four of them so I could write more. I wrote my first novel in four months and a screenplay in nineteen days working each one feverishly. I know my characters down to the most infinite detail, but also know nothing I write is ever good enough. I spend several hours a day dreaming of the stories I want to grace readers with and wondering when I’ll ever get the chance to since fiction is so hard to get published. I take note of the world around me and question how anything and everything will fit into a particular story, literally (I stopped traffic once to make note of the term “fish ladder”).
I get off on the satisfaction of moving a project from the “working” folder to the “completed” one. I don’t write to earn money because I’d rather see my name on a book jacket that I’m proud of than get paid (though I admit the Jaguar XKR convertible would look stunning on me, especially in midnight blue). I revel in the quiet spaces where I can create and pluck away until my keyboard melts. My loftiest goal is not to be called “Pulitzer Prize Winner,” but instead to give an acceptance speech for the Kiriyama Pacific Rim book prize, which few have ever even heard of. I enter writing contests in the hopes that someone will say, “this is really good stuff…dude.” I figure I’m one of two things: a naturally gifted, creative person with rough edges that publishers dream of discovering or a delusional moron whose foray into the guarded martial art of PUB-YU will end in someone talking me off a large structure that I don’t intend to BASE jump from.
So don’t get frustrated or alienated when a writer (especially one you look up to) describes their routine and you realize it’s nothing like yours. They are them. You are you. And your voice will never be like theirs. It will be yours. As it always should be.
Curmudgeonism: A Surly Man's Guide to Midlife
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