It’s easy to romanticize a writer’s task, to picture a thoughtful master stroking his whiskers whilst penning transcendent, world-altering prose. Sure, that may have happened to me for twelve-and-a-half minutes Monday morning, but what about the bulk of novel writing? Everyone knows that you can’t write a book in twelve-and-a-half minutes (unless you’re Bradley Cooper from LIMITLESS).
It boils down to this: writing is hard work.
Some days are like Monday morning, where the words almost write themselves and nothing can go wrong and farts smell like flowers. Then there are days like later that Monday morning (twelve minutes and thirty-one seconds later, if you were wondering), where even the task of putting 150 words onto a page is more dauntingly difficult than swallowing a watermelon whole. Twice.
Writing is certainly enjoyable, but I’m also trying to make it my job. And that means work, every day, despite the presence of inspiration, or lack thereof. So when you picture a writer as that guy who sits at Starbucks® sipping his Flat White®, waiting for divine inspiration to fill his blank word document, please know that I’m going to try to slap you through the internet. And I’m not gonna feel bad about it.
All this does is make inspiration more worthy of celebration, because it’s the exception, not the rule. Inspired writing is like scoring a strike even though you bowled the ball backward and between your legs. Or, with a more mundane example, hitting a perfect swing in golf. That feeling is amazing, and it’s what keeps me coming back even though the next ten thousand swings are going to be painfully lacking. Writers don’t wait for inspiration; They work until they find it.
Understanding all of this, try to imagine walking into a bookstore. Those thousands of books didn’t just appear overnight. In some cases, that single tome sequestered on an obscure back shelf represents a real person’s entire lifetime of work. The hours of invested work represented in those books is a testament to the awesome things humans can accomplish.
Sometimes, after I’ve spent an hour or two working on a single paragraph of text, I wonder–in utter futility–whether or not this particular section of text will stand out. Will it be as important to the reader as it was to me when I finessed it? Of course not! And it shouldn’t be. If everything goes well, my readers might enjoy the apt metaphor and continue on, rightfully oblivious of the hours of time that went into weighing and discarding each word. Because in good writing, fluidity is the norm, which is only achieved after many hours of hard work.
So, whatever you read next, put yourself in the shoes of the writer for just a moment. Don’t slow down, but be thankful of the work–both hard and inspired–that had to be put into the product before you. And remember, without hard work, every book might read like this: “The weather beaten trail wound ahead into the dust racked climes of the baren land which dominates large portions of the Norgolian empire. Age worn hoof prints smothered by the sifting sands of time shone dully against the dust splattered crust of earth. The tireless sun cast its parching rays of incandescense from overhead, half way through its daily revolution. Small rodents scampered about, occupying themselves in the daily accomplishments of their dismal lives. Dust sprayed over three heaving mounts in blinding clouds, while they bore the burdonsome cargoes of their struggling overseers.
“Prepare to embrace your creators in the stygian haunts of hell, barbarian”, gasped the first soldier.
“Only after you have kissed the fleeting stead of death, wretch!” returned Grignr.”
The above paragraphs are taken from THE EYE OF ARGUS by Jim Theis, enthusiastically considered one of the worst fantasy tales of all time.
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Don’t steal my words. They’re mine. ©
