Darn blog thing.
It's a tough row to hoe. Like almost everything in my life, I'm torn when considering the blog. I want to be better about posting. I enjoy typing. Words are nice. But somehow getting on here and actually keeping up with this just doesn't happen. I have a long list of excuses: the start of a new semester and the continuation of the Winter quarter at CCC; the bad weather early in the month which meant more time on the road and frequent power outages; the boys really coming into their "three-ness" and being weasels in the weaseliest of ways. But as I so often point out to my students, "excuses" are not the same as "reasons."
I think there's something living in me that doesn't want to see me write. I don't know what it is or why it's there or why it won't leave me alone. I loathe it with a passion unequaled by much else in my life. It feels like my whole being is yearning out to write and this little hobgoblin beats it out of me every time. I can't tell you how much time I waste on insignifica--reading the 1,000th bad movie review on any of a dozen websites, reading magazine articles I'm not particularly interested in, playing solitaire on the computer (solitaire, of all things! What the heck? A la Comic Book Guy, could there be any greater waste of time and consciousness?). Every day I start out with a fervent desire to write, and every night I go to bed frustrated and bitter that another day has passed without me penning a single word. Surely, I have a cartload of important things to do during the day (teach, grade, interact with Joanna and the boys, keep up the house), but I also just waste so much time. I seem desperate to find anything to do other than write, even as I know that's what I most want to do. Grrr!
Is it possible to be built for one thing and be utterly unable to do that one thing? That's like taking the time and effort to build a windmill and then tying one blade to the ground so it can't spin. What's the point? Sometimes I get motivated and read books about writing, and make plans about writing, and even write in here as a kind of substitute for the kind of writing I really want to be doing. The one thing I never actually do is write. Sad, really.
The possible scenarios:
(1) I was never meant to write. My own hubris or Satanic influence has convinced me I need to do it. My struggles are my conscience and the Holy Spirit trying to get me to cut out this foolishness while my own pride wants desperately to hang on to the image of myself as a writer.
(2) I was meant to write, and the forces of laziness and fear (and that ol' Satanic influence again) that keep me back from my God-given mandate to use those talents I have in writing. My struggles arise from me fighting against what I know in my soul I ought to be doing.
(3) I'm kind of a messed-up guy with no motivation or work ethic. I have talent and desire but I can't figure out how to put them to good use.
(4) I'm more in love with the idea of being a writer than I am with writing. James Michener summed this up nicely: "Many people who want to be writers don't really want to be writers. They want to have been writers. They wish they had a book in print." Is this me? Yikes.
I know (3) and (4) are definitely a part of my problem. The question is if (1) or (2) resemble the truth in any sense and if so, which one? I've given my writing over to God because it's just too painful for me to deal with these days. I've prayed that if I'm not meant to write that He'll take away my desire to do so, and if I am meant to that He'll show me to be dedicated and motivated and devoted to the task. And I sit still in the same limbo I've been inhabiting for... oh, let's say ten years, to be charitable.
Imagine that every day you have the chance to spend time with the person you love most. Every morning you wake up and look over at that person, and smile, and promise them you'll do something that day. And every day, you fritter away your time on petty amusements and frivolous monkeyshine, while your beloved stands there, waiting. And every night when you go to bed, you curse yourself for having missed out on another day with him or her, and vow to make tomorrow different.
Imagine that every day.
Not a bad metaphor for how I treat God, actually. Now I feel doubly guilty.
This is a long, self-pitying rant, I realize. The scary thing is it might not change a thing about how I live my life, even though I can see the problem and know of the solution. How would we feel about someone who has a disease and can see the treatment and knows what to do to get rid of the sickness and could avail themselves of the cure but simply doesn't? I would find myself lacking sympathy for that person, which suggests that I deserve none myself. Most likely true.
Grrrrr.
"You can't want to be a writer, you have to be one."
--Paul Theroux
2 comments:
I sympathize. Of all people, I think you know that I sympathize with you completely.
If you'll bear that in mind while reading the rest of my response, I'll be blunt with you. Your conclusion is correct. 1 and 2 are cop-outs; they are little more than nonsensical navel-gazing that does nothing but give you an excuse to overanalyze your motivations instead of putting pen to paper (or finger to keyboard) and writing something. I suspect that we American Christians waste a great deal of time and thought quailing before the tasks that we face because we worry that Satan or God is forcing our hand.
If God doesn't want you to write, He'll make it clear to you. Until then, stop feeling guilty about it.
Don't write out of guilt. Don't write because God gave you a talent to write. Don't write because it's going to give you fulfillment and make you happier.
Write because you want to. You certainly have plenty of material to work with. Or don't.
I just talked with Marilyn about your post for about an hour. You seem to have reached into her head and plucked out a great deal of concerns, sentiments, and fears. It just further proves that I married a female version of you, I guess (creepy!). We came to a few other conclusions:
1. We have a fear of failure. We don't want to create crap. However, as every writer will tell you, you have to write in order to get the crap out. It's part of the learning process. I've been learning that in my Learning and Teaching class, as well - we only really learn by doing. We want the fruits of the work - shining prose, stirring themes, thought-provoking narratives, intriguing characters - without doing the work that yields that crop, which is trying and failing, trying and failing. Failure is part of the learning process.
In connection with this, I wonder if you're afraid that by producing crap, your reputation as a writer will suffer. Well, you have no reputation. You haven't written anything that would earn you a reputation. If it's how your friends think of you that worries you, you know that we'll all support you and appreciate you even if you pass the decades and end up on your death bed without having published so much as a pamphlet. So stop being so self-conscious. You have nothing to lose. Honestly, Michael. Write that Earthdawn fiction you have floating in your mind. Heck, write Campaign fiction, if it's on your mind. Write the geekiest fanfic you dwell on in your mind. Will you be able to get it published and make some money from it? Probably not (though you may be surprised - art school has shown me that there are more markets for these things than we have been taught by "mundane" society, and they're growing). Will it be weighty, and communicate the holiness of God to the unknowing? I doubt it. But it's writing, and doing it will make you a better writer. Doing it is IN ITSELF a virtue.
2. We think that writing is going to bring us fulfillment. We place too much expectation upon the art, too much stock in the idea of "success," be it getting anything at all published or earning a lucrative contract. As long as our hope of fulfillment is on writing instead of being close to God, we'll be disappointed. But if we're close to God - like the relationship example you provided - our joy will come from that, and any writing we do will be more pleasurable. We put too much pressure on writing.
Having said that, don't NOT write because you feel guilty that writing shouldn't give you as much pleasure as it does. Just let it be what it is, whether you write a little or a lot. Along these lines, don't feel ashamed if what you're writing is geek-stuff. There's a market for it. If I've learned anything in the last few weeks, it's that we've got a whole world of condescending peer pressure that's been laid upon our chosen hobbies and favored genres, to an extent that may yet surprise us. Think of how you feel when someone catches you working on a bit of writing for a roleplaying game. Why do you feel like that? Why do you lie, and say that you're "working on a story" or something more elusive? Maybe there's some degree of social grease - it's just too complicated to explain, and they may think you're some kind of freak. That's fine - but I think it also makes us feel as though it's somehow less valid than even sitting in front of the television.
You're married. You have children. You have a teaching job. Who cares what they think about you? What do you have to get from them that makes you obfuscate what you do?
It's possible that this last part was a bit of a digression, something I've had on my mind this week, but I think it's relevant to the main discussion. There are people who do these things for a living, be it writing roleplaying materials, writing comic books, writing game fiction novels. Yet we feel guilty for doing it. Is it because it's an affront to God? Then we should have nothing to do with it at all.
But it isn't. Far more important that we maintain a relationship with God. The rest is all trappings and window-dressing. Give it the weight - or lack thereof - that it deserves.
Okay, now I think I really am rambling, so I'll stop. Besides, we want to get out of the apartment today.
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