Humility, Patience and
Courage: The Writer's Holy Trinity
by
Martin Brady
I've been writing
professionally now for about 20 years. I got started in Chicago, providing
modest (100-150 words) free-lance book reviews for a journal called
"Booklist." I eventually became a staff editor for that publication, and
ended up expanding my horizons as a free-lance writer, contributing
1,000-word book reviews to the Sunday "Chicago Sun-Times" book section.
From there, besides my 9-to-5 editorial work, I found occasional work for
hire, writing catalog and advertising copy and doing copy-editing for
books and journals. More creatively, I stayed active writing sketches for
community musical revues, songwriting, and I even managed to finish a
novel and a memoir of my experiences in psychotherapy, both of which
remain unpublished. About five years ago, I moved to Nashville to pursue
long-delayed dreams as a published songwriter. These have met with only
modest success, yet I managed to parlay my background as a published
journalist into a regular gig as an entertainment and arts writer for
"Nashville Scene," which is Music City's version of the "Village Voice,"
and also a sister publication of both "L.A. Weekly" and "Orange County
Weekly." [Visit
www.nashvillescene.com]
If there is one thing I have learned through these experiences, it is how
important every little step can be on the road to writing--and writing
well. In my opinion, there is no such thing as a small job or an
insignificant opportunity. Yes, some jobs don't pay much, and some don't
pay at all. But exercising the writing muscle--the very doing of the
thing--is critical to any kind of achievement or success. If you find an
opportunity to write--take it. It matters little what it is--whether
writing about a community event for a small local paper, or crafting an
internal business report, or providing a profile of an interesting person
for a specialty publication--for it is through the doing that one learns,
gets better, acquires skills, and maybe makes a contact along the way with
someone who might utilize your abilities somewhere down the road.
I'm a big advocate of the practicality of getting involved with a
publishing enterprise of any kind. Even if this doesn't involve
writing--at first--it is important to be positioned near those who do
write. For example, proofreading may sound like grunt work, but it is an
excellent entree into the world of words, and a good proofreader is
constantly exposed to sentence construction and usage issues as well as
publishing protocols. I suppose this approach is no different than that of
the fellow who wants to be a stockbroker, and hence spends a few years as
a "runner" at the stock exchange, watching deals get done and observing
the routines of that business. Being near the writing world broadens the
horizons of the would-be writer.
Writing isn't glamorous. It seems like it ought to be, and all those
glorious dreams of creating something truly artistic and beautiful are
supposedly what spurs us on. I'm certainly all for the creative writer
indulging his/her dreams. Dreams provide a target, to be sure. Yet the
craft of writing is often painstaking, elusive, frustrating, contentious,
and spurious. It also requires constant re-tooling of one's perspective,
as well as a willingness to pull back and reconsider alternatives.
The rut is one of the writer's worst enemies. It's not unusual for me,
maybe every six months or so, to feel like I can't possibly approach my
work with any freshness. Stuck with a new assignment, I'll stare at the
computer and wonder, "Haven't I done something like this before? Do I
simply apply the formula I've used in the past to achieve the desired
effect?" Sometimes, when faced with this proposition, I'll go visit an
editor or fellow writer I know and say. "I've hit a wall. I'm tapped out.
I've done this before, and I'm so afraid that I won't find a fresh
approach. And I'm filled with anxiety. What do I do??"
Anyone who's ever written knows this feeling. It's an occupational hazard.
Inevitably, I am received with absolute understanding, and the colleague
will say, "Ah, a little bit of burn-out, eh? Relax. Take a deep breath. Go
do something else. Don't agonize. Take a break from even thinking about
your problem. When you're ready to return to the computer, make every
attempt to think about the story in a completely different way than you
otherwise might. Consciously strive to find a new approach. Dare to be
offbeat. Focus on a new area of the subject. Rule out nothing. Consider
any element of the topic as fair game for development. Don't be hemmed in
by what you perceive as your own 'style.' In this way, you will find
renewal."
Well, some advice works better than others. But this is as good as any.
Regardless, the writer has to push on through the muck of his own mind and
draw on the kitbag of tricks he has learned through experience to assist
in cranking out the next project.
Perhaps the starkest reality is that writing is solitary. No one else can
make the journey with you. Woody Allen says courage is ultimately more
important to the writer's success than talent. I have to agree. Vocabulary
and structure are the mechanics of this trade, and yes, the writer must
absorb all aspects of those to master his/her craft--and also continually
seek to renew them (more words, new words, new structural approaches,
etc.). But yet again, it's the very doing of the thing that matters--there
is no substitute for daring to commit words to paper. You must want it
badly, you must endure the missteps along the way, and you must further
re-commit to the sometimes-arduous task before you.
It is said that writing is re-writing. For quality control, from project
to project, this is certainly true. But for the long haul, writing is
openness and renewal and a constant monitoring of one's desire to achieve.
Therein lies fulfillment.
Oh, and did I mention? It's almost always hard as shit--even for the best
of writers. I have found this truth to be consoling. The notion that it
was easy for Steinbeck or Hemingway or other supposedly deeply gifted
artists simply doesn't wash. They may have had tremendous talent in the
way of vision or ideas, but the amount of sweat they expended in getting
to the finished product is commensurate with your own.
So consider that, when you're in the depth of your own meager little
project, you're in the same fraternity as the truly great ones.
Now go. Write. And be not afraid.