Well, Q, outside of a handful of family, and one hopes a few friends, the world doesn't give a damn if you write, or clean sewers, or till a field, or write code in a cubicle for the rest of your life. So you might as well do what you want. You will probably have to do what you want with some defiance too, some attitude, because in most of the real world pursing art is not valued. Not until you are successful by some external measures not your own, will your life and pursuit of art be seen as something worthwhile. This path implies uncertainly for sure, but nothing's certain anywhere anyway, so again, might as well be uncertain doing work you feel good about.
I am 77, and have worked at the writing craft all my adult life. Sometime for intense stretches, sometimes I lapsed when other things took over. A few of the kind people around this SC community might say I'm a good writer, but I've not been a successful writer by any measurable standards. But I think if you are an artist the choice what you do is made for you. If you reject that part of yourself you will not feel good, you will feel sick, in fact. I do think Story Club is a good place to hang out, because this is one place people do care.
Tod, that's a beautiful gift you just gave to Q. Nothing is more true than your last two lines. And if I may, congratulations for the long and obviously successful writing life you are living.
Thank you for this comment. At 83, by all outside standards, I am a failed writer, still muddling along writing in notebooks and churning out poems. My fiction writing chops have long disappeared, but I do write prose poems that seem like flash fiction, and in my poems are characters, like Larry, who surface and tell me about their lives. I tell myself that writing without a huge desire to publish or find fame is no worse than playing golf for four hours! It gives me pleasure, takes me deep, and helps me notice the good all around me. Besides, I love hanging out with other writers, like George and all of you here. And my poetry group. So onward!
Hi Vicky, Onward, by all means! I've been thinking about this question more, and what comes to mind is, the first order of Art is the soul of the artist. The people who drew animals in caves 50,000 years ago weren't concerned about a byline in The New Yorker. They made art because their expression made connection to the rest of the universe. Strip all the crap of modern life away, and that's what matters. Like everything else it touches, capitalism has commercialized art, and made us equate success with sales. That is one kind of success. But when I go in a bookstore where hundreds of books fill shelves and can't find anything worth reading, in my opinion, mainstream publication doesn't seem much like success either. What you say about pleasure, going deep, noticing good, and hanging with other writers - that's all success in my book. And aren't we fortunate that we can still do what we love every day !!
I clap my hands for your ideas here. I also am 77 and also not (nor seeking to be) successful or famous, that meaning “having my art be sold at good profit”.
Questioner: Art is for the artist. But we need some of our own favorite pieces to matter a lot to at least a few others. We are here today because George’s writing and ideas help us enjoy being alive. Tod is right that you could well be sickened if you leave off making art. Start a website or keep yours going and do find financially sufficient work, either job or business. Let art be your children. Mine own pieces are that for me. Most people no longer ‘use’ their kids for economic benefit as was/is true in the agricultural societies. Have fun. I will always be happy to read what you are working on. TedPhelps.com
Hi Ted, Nice to meet you here. I'm looking forward to checking out your website. Thank you for your ideas ! I was going to add something like that, in my case, writing on Substack, which is a wonderful way to publish work - it's immediate, you're your own editor and publisher, ( for better or worse ), and you don't answer to anyone. It's not easy to build an audience starting from scratch, but it's quite possible if you're willing to do the networking and are patient, and plan to live long enough ! You can even make money, and some people make a ton of money. Not me, but I know some who do :). Anyway, always good to meet another 77 year old writer. There are a few of us lurking here, so hope you stick around.
Just wanted to share some commiseration with the questioner. I think a lot about a Paul Auster quote, which was something like: no one is asking you to write and the world will be fine if you don't, so really think about why you're doing it. It sounds cynical, but this gives me perspective. Writing and storytelling demand respect and are Important and Serious, but also they kind of are not. And so at least what I like to think is that the world won't live and die by my little stories, but it could in some way be different, as a result of my writing something which someone engages with in some way. Which is plenty for me.
We've also read a lot of writing from people who have written during some abjectly horrible periods of history. I wonder what advice Isaac Babel would have given before he was taken by secret police.
Hello Questioner. I hear you--the world DOES seem scary. And you write that you are a student from the "third world." I'm wondering if part of your fear is being in the U.S. and being afraid that you'll be kicked out? Or living in a country where you are not free to express yourself? I don't know your situation, but I'm sure you have your reasons for feeling fearful. And I'm sorry about your fear. Living in fear is awful.
But you also wonder how you can be committed to your art once you leave the cocoon of your MFA program. I've got a couple of things to say to that. First of all, since you are in your final year of your program, now is the time to establish and hold tight to the friendships you've made in your program, both students and mentors. They aren't going to totally disappear on you. I attended a low-residency program a long ago and am still in touch with several of my classmates, though we met in person only a handful of times. The written word carries us along together and we cheer for one another as the years go on. So, don't think you will be completely alone--you won't be. As you continue to write and read and attend readings or workshops or whatever, the literary world will remain open to you. It will welcome you. I mean, look at Story Club! We're all so glad you are here!
Secondly, whoever told you to "embrace uncertainty" was right on the money. We can never be sure of the future, and so it is good advice to embrace that feeling of "not knowing." The alternative is fearing the future, and fear does a person little good when it comes to writing. Embrace the fact that life is long for most of us, that each of us has more than one life to live (student, mother, sister, employee, writer, poet, swimmer, bartender....), that the future is coming no matter what and we never know what may be waiting around the corner. Embrace it, yes. That's wonderful advice. Really, one of the best pieces of advice ever!
Lastly, you say you are a 23 year-old who's trying hard to be a serious writer. Forgive me if I tell you that it's okay to not try so hard. Just be a writer. Let the "serious writer" persona come later, if it comes at all. Now is the time to enjoy writing, to use writing to learn about yourself, to use writing to show yourself to others, to emote, to laugh, to feel, to understand. But mostly, a person writes because they enjoy it. The "real world" of which you speak will at times try to break you. The "real world" may turn out to be a long walk on a hard road. But you don't know that. The "real world" may be fascinating and wild. There is a mystery out there. Again, embrace it! Remember what your purpose is here on this world. To enjoy your life and to create. To enjoy creating. I already know you are going to be all right. You don't need me to wish you the best of luck. But I will say Yay! for you. I will cheer you on. The world awaits you! xoxoxo
I went into a bank the other day, remember them? A shiny 3 storey building with a protest outside and red paint sprayed on the plate glass windows promising loans?
I was there to sort out my mother’s finance, and luckily the protest which I’d normally be on their side of, started while I was inside. Awkward.
The place was empty with only a couple of employees. So i asked, “What’s it like working here?” My advisor said “Well some days no one comes in, you can be here for 9 hours alone. For days at a time. Plus mostly my job is helping people use the banking app, not helping them with their finance.”
It struck me as the ideal job for a writer, “I hope you’re writing a novel then.”
He looked a bit shocked, then said “Yes, I am. A dystopian Sci Fi. Nearly finished..”
Love this story ! It's true, though, writers (and artists and musicians and filmmakers...) are doing all kinds of jobs, (and can be inspired by their day jobs, as George was, for their real work). Sounds like that's the case for our bank-teller novelist!
Your concerns, questioner, show you to be someone of conscience and good will, those qualities fundamental as your young self (oh, to be 23 again and be granted a do-over!) navigates what you're calling the "real world". I don't know if the world is real or unreal or something else altogether, sometimes it's hard to tell, but I do know that you must do the thing you think you cannot do. This I stole from Eleanor Roosevelt, who knew a thing or two about doing what must be done regardless of what you think you can or can't do. (I have her words on a card on my office wall.) And in whatever state the world is in or not in, real or unreal. Art, some other kind of work, all of it things that your life is calling you to do you must do. If it's any comfort, you're not alone in your question---it's been the eternal one for the ages: how to work in the face of opposition. Well, opposition is unrelenting. It's a natural and constant condition of the world, real or unreal, which you'll discover if you haven't already. As for meeting its demands, don't sell yourself short! Judging by your question, you have a lot more going for you than you think!
Also, George recommends taking several hours and assessing your strengths, abilities, conditions, etc. Good advice. But don't be surprised if it takes more than an afternoon. You may find during periodic "meetings" with yourself that you come away with more clarity and purpose and direction than anything the real, or unreal, world may offer.
Seems to me Rosanne that you make fair and perceptive comment. What George may have concluded from one afternoon's intense afternoon's personal S.W.O.T. analysis and sober appraisal of how best to travel the way of a literary artist has never been a static snapshot but rather a rolling regular review of where he's been, is and what next. In many ways, for me, Story Club is a natural and very generously shared manifestation of his evolving and potent creativity.
Here are two other things, along with the Eleanor Roosevelt, that I have on my office wall, not directly related to writing but still true all the same. Hope these also help, questioner:
Concerning all acts of initiative or creation, there is one elemental truth: That the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves, too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would otherwise have never occurred. ----W.H. Murray, leader of the 1950 Scottish Himalayan expedition. (This I know to be especially true. Long story, but the reason I even have a writing life is owing to a long ago and beloved rescue dog.)
Then, speaking of Providence, there's this: If you bring forth what is within you then what you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you what you don't bring forth will destroy you. ----Jesus, in the Gospel of Thomas (Religiosity aside, there's truth here.)
I'm a professional writer. I'm older. Old enough anyway to recognize how much things have changed in this world, especially when it comes to art and artists. This is a fantastic question and one that's been on my mind too. I think often about the kids entering the creative space today -- it's nothing like it was when I started out. It's harsher, smaller in a way, larger in others, and, hard to parse. The one thing that does give me hope is that great art is still happening, still pushing through like those flowers that find their way through the cracks in concrete sidewalks.
I remember in those uncertain months after 9/11 when I headed out to a public event for the first time in months. It was to hear Garrison Keillor speak at the Writers Guild of America. He's one of my literary heroes and he was fantastic as usual -- funny, irreverent, thoughtful, challenging and, probably because we all were then, defaulting into the philosophical.
When he opened the floor to questions, my hand shot up at the exact moment my mind when totally blank. Of course, I got called on. I didn't know what to say but, like George's letter writer, I'd spent months thinking about the world and where we were, where we were headed and not knowing what changes were ahead except that those changes were coming at us like tsunami warnings. Little did we know, right?
Anyway, I blurted out my question. A friend was recording so I was able to preserve it. I asked: "Many of us here write for a living. It's not hyperbole to say the world is different now -- scarier, crazier and not in a good way, smaller even and, maybe more dangerous. How do we sit down to write in a world that seems so angry, so full of hate and so seemingly lacking in empathy, that it takes a man-made tragedy to see it fully? What are we supposed to do now?"
Keillor's first response was to let out his breath as if he'd been holding it in for all of us. I could feel my heart beating so hard that I thought it was going to punch a hole through my throat. He followed the sigh with a half grin, the kind he's famous for that is both happy and somehow mournful at the same time. Then he responded, the large man with the booming voice that's in the same universe of comfort as Mr. Rogers.
He said the only thing we can do is to sit down and write. That the work itself is the most important contribution we give to the world and to quiet it now, at a moment when things seem so hopeless and sad, would be the biggest wrong. It's these times, he said, where art is the most important. Because art unites us in a way that speaks across generations, ethnicities, divisions, politics, class -- the whole human experience. Art is part of what helps us understand the world and each other.
I think a lot about what he said today, in the current climate when, while it seems impossible to think even now, is far worse than what occurred following the attacks on 9/11. If you recall, that event brought us closer together if only briefly. I have tried to hang on to that ideal -- that art reminds us that the things we share, help us better understand what separates and divides us and that opening your mind and your heart is a way to overcome in these days of ridiculous cruelty, bombast and despair.
One doesn't need to travel farther than one's local public library for confirmation that art is not only the thing that brings us closer, it's a source of comfort and knowledge. Even a cursory perusal of the classics is a stunningly accurate road map to where we find ourselves ("1984" or "Fahrenheit 451" anybody?) from writers who gifted the world books that make it seem as if they traveled to our future just to go back in time to warn us in the past. As George reminds us, too, art is the greatest bullshit meter. Because, big or small, great art tells the truth about the human condition in a way that not only connects us, but let's even the people who feel the most disconnected, know that there are others in the world just like them.
I forget this sometimes, but I've learned the universal truth about writers and writing: we writers write because we need to write. I think it's no accident, but rather an instinctual characteristic built into whatever part of our DNA pointed us to the blank page as our north star and made sure it was handed down to every generation of artists who must confront this wide, weird world of humanity in its infinite forms and formulations. "Art isn't an abstraction,: the great writer James Lee Burke once said to me, "it's a necessity." Well, damn.
I think I've overstayed my comment welcome and I'm too lazy to go back and edit it down so please forgive me. I will leave you with this quote that I've posted above my writing desk since I found it some 25 or so years ago, also by James Lee Burke.
"The most difficult test for me as a writer came during the middle of my career, when, after publishing three novels in New York, I went 13 years without a hardback publication. My novel ''The Lost Get-Back Boogie'' alone received 110 rejections during nine years of submission, supposedly a record in the industry.
It was during this period I had to relearn the lesson I had learned at 20, when I worked on the offshore oil crew: you write it a day at a time and let God be the measure of its worth; you let the score take care of itself; and most important, you never lose faith in your vision. God might choose fools and people who glow with neurosis for his partners in creation, but he doesn't make mistakes."
Such excellent advice! On an interview show years ago I heard Anthony Hopkins say exactly the same thing, which may account for his greatness, as well as Mc Dermott’’s!
I copied - so that I could Paste and Send (to a son) - this timely fragment from George's response:
" ... think about how, practically, to design a life that will continue to support [your] work."
I like that. It's not either/or. Not Real Life/Art. They are part of the mix of being alive, and there is a purpose on each side of the line. To support/To thrive.
"If having spotted a flying elephant you happen to find it land lightly on your lap in time for your next nourishment do remember to consume it slowly, in digestable, bite-size, chunks or, better yet, morsels."
Great question, that's always going to be as wide as it's deep and amenable to as many answers as there are thinking readers to respond to offer them. George's response is rich and right on the money, as was Paul Auster's reflection plucked appositely from back in the day.
A lot to food for thought in this Q&A already; thanks to both; enough said by me already and I'll give others the floor and look forward to reading contributions to what could be humdinger of a conversation to carry us forward towards and who knows on into the festive season: what a 🎁!!!
I'm not sure I could decide not to write, for any reason. I've tried not to write. It doesn't work. So there's the question, also, do we really have any choice in the pursuit of our obsessions? Do we have any choice when we were born and what lifetime we have lived? I don't think so. So, yeah, it's good to understand why and how you are going to continue writing when it's necessary to relate to your friends and family and strangers, even, when it's necessary to make a living, to maintain your health and be where else you need to be. But you're going to write, one way or another.
Love this advice about continuing writing post-MFA and writing during insane times. When I finished my MFA I was afraid I would not maintain my writing practice. One thing that helped was going to one conference or retreat a year to keep me accountable and writing regularly. Also, just got a ticket for the Nashville reading!
It's interesting (and weirdly encouraging) to hear that you struggled with "Jon" feeling like it was inconsequential in the shadow of 9/11. I read that story when it was published and it was earth-shaking. It captured how love is trapped, obstructed, re-routed, blocked, poisoned, and still might ultimately prevail in the midst of outrageous capitalist excess and exploitation. This was - and remains - a theme that preoccupies me and reading it at the time made me feel something like what you describe here - 'OK, there is still life to live and art like this story is out there and is an essential part of it and, wow, I feel seen and somehow more alive.' Maybe this is an example of how focusing on the "small" human stories, on the specifics of those, moment to moment, no matter how small they might feel, is one of the only ways to get at the larger truths of life on Earth. Instead of agonizing over whether the work matters, we need to trust that it IS bigger and more important than we know, tell the agony to hush up, and keep going.
May I also suggest her spirit sis Marina Tsvetaeva and the su•cide inducingly beautiful Max Richter song whereupon she reads "How many people fell in this abyss": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G8BHZgCHQi8
What a thoughtful and beautiful answer for Q. Especially taking the time to review, especially the nervous system. When I was young I was too busy for that review and it would have been helpful. I still believe that only thing that's certain is uncertainty. Some days it looms large, others quite small when I'm in the flow of life, but it's always there sitting in the back seat.
But George, bring on the flying elephants! They're papered everywhere these days and ripe to be discovered and questioned. Let's question all of them and see what we write. Write on!
Good question and answer. I wanted to write for years but after my daughter was two and a half was on my own with her and oppressed by a large mortgage on our garden flat. Meant I had to take high stress jobs, in TV and then film, to pay for our life. My writing time was our holidays. At the station or airport I always bought a new journal. Every holiday my joy in writing was reborn. I did this for years and those journals have been a great source since I able, finally and in my fifties, to write full time.
Well, Q, outside of a handful of family, and one hopes a few friends, the world doesn't give a damn if you write, or clean sewers, or till a field, or write code in a cubicle for the rest of your life. So you might as well do what you want. You will probably have to do what you want with some defiance too, some attitude, because in most of the real world pursing art is not valued. Not until you are successful by some external measures not your own, will your life and pursuit of art be seen as something worthwhile. This path implies uncertainly for sure, but nothing's certain anywhere anyway, so again, might as well be uncertain doing work you feel good about.
I am 77, and have worked at the writing craft all my adult life. Sometime for intense stretches, sometimes I lapsed when other things took over. A few of the kind people around this SC community might say I'm a good writer, but I've not been a successful writer by any measurable standards. But I think if you are an artist the choice what you do is made for you. If you reject that part of yourself you will not feel good, you will feel sick, in fact. I do think Story Club is a good place to hang out, because this is one place people do care.
Tod, that's a beautiful gift you just gave to Q. Nothing is more true than your last two lines. And if I may, congratulations for the long and obviously successful writing life you are living.
Thank you for this comment. At 83, by all outside standards, I am a failed writer, still muddling along writing in notebooks and churning out poems. My fiction writing chops have long disappeared, but I do write prose poems that seem like flash fiction, and in my poems are characters, like Larry, who surface and tell me about their lives. I tell myself that writing without a huge desire to publish or find fame is no worse than playing golf for four hours! It gives me pleasure, takes me deep, and helps me notice the good all around me. Besides, I love hanging out with other writers, like George and all of you here. And my poetry group. So onward!
Hi Vicky, Onward, by all means! I've been thinking about this question more, and what comes to mind is, the first order of Art is the soul of the artist. The people who drew animals in caves 50,000 years ago weren't concerned about a byline in The New Yorker. They made art because their expression made connection to the rest of the universe. Strip all the crap of modern life away, and that's what matters. Like everything else it touches, capitalism has commercialized art, and made us equate success with sales. That is one kind of success. But when I go in a bookstore where hundreds of books fill shelves and can't find anything worth reading, in my opinion, mainstream publication doesn't seem much like success either. What you say about pleasure, going deep, noticing good, and hanging with other writers - that's all success in my book. And aren't we fortunate that we can still do what we love every day !!
Tod,
I clap my hands for your ideas here. I also am 77 and also not (nor seeking to be) successful or famous, that meaning “having my art be sold at good profit”.
Questioner: Art is for the artist. But we need some of our own favorite pieces to matter a lot to at least a few others. We are here today because George’s writing and ideas help us enjoy being alive. Tod is right that you could well be sickened if you leave off making art. Start a website or keep yours going and do find financially sufficient work, either job or business. Let art be your children. Mine own pieces are that for me. Most people no longer ‘use’ their kids for economic benefit as was/is true in the agricultural societies. Have fun. I will always be happy to read what you are working on. TedPhelps.com
Hi Ted, Nice to meet you here. I'm looking forward to checking out your website. Thank you for your ideas ! I was going to add something like that, in my case, writing on Substack, which is a wonderful way to publish work - it's immediate, you're your own editor and publisher, ( for better or worse ), and you don't answer to anyone. It's not easy to build an audience starting from scratch, but it's quite possible if you're willing to do the networking and are patient, and plan to live long enough ! You can even make money, and some people make a ton of money. Not me, but I know some who do :). Anyway, always good to meet another 77 year old writer. There are a few of us lurking here, so hope you stick around.
Just wanted to share some commiseration with the questioner. I think a lot about a Paul Auster quote, which was something like: no one is asking you to write and the world will be fine if you don't, so really think about why you're doing it. It sounds cynical, but this gives me perspective. Writing and storytelling demand respect and are Important and Serious, but also they kind of are not. And so at least what I like to think is that the world won't live and die by my little stories, but it could in some way be different, as a result of my writing something which someone engages with in some way. Which is plenty for me.
We've also read a lot of writing from people who have written during some abjectly horrible periods of history. I wonder what advice Isaac Babel would have given before he was taken by secret police.
Yeah. Babel. Exactly.
Hello Questioner. I hear you--the world DOES seem scary. And you write that you are a student from the "third world." I'm wondering if part of your fear is being in the U.S. and being afraid that you'll be kicked out? Or living in a country where you are not free to express yourself? I don't know your situation, but I'm sure you have your reasons for feeling fearful. And I'm sorry about your fear. Living in fear is awful.
But you also wonder how you can be committed to your art once you leave the cocoon of your MFA program. I've got a couple of things to say to that. First of all, since you are in your final year of your program, now is the time to establish and hold tight to the friendships you've made in your program, both students and mentors. They aren't going to totally disappear on you. I attended a low-residency program a long ago and am still in touch with several of my classmates, though we met in person only a handful of times. The written word carries us along together and we cheer for one another as the years go on. So, don't think you will be completely alone--you won't be. As you continue to write and read and attend readings or workshops or whatever, the literary world will remain open to you. It will welcome you. I mean, look at Story Club! We're all so glad you are here!
Secondly, whoever told you to "embrace uncertainty" was right on the money. We can never be sure of the future, and so it is good advice to embrace that feeling of "not knowing." The alternative is fearing the future, and fear does a person little good when it comes to writing. Embrace the fact that life is long for most of us, that each of us has more than one life to live (student, mother, sister, employee, writer, poet, swimmer, bartender....), that the future is coming no matter what and we never know what may be waiting around the corner. Embrace it, yes. That's wonderful advice. Really, one of the best pieces of advice ever!
Lastly, you say you are a 23 year-old who's trying hard to be a serious writer. Forgive me if I tell you that it's okay to not try so hard. Just be a writer. Let the "serious writer" persona come later, if it comes at all. Now is the time to enjoy writing, to use writing to learn about yourself, to use writing to show yourself to others, to emote, to laugh, to feel, to understand. But mostly, a person writes because they enjoy it. The "real world" of which you speak will at times try to break you. The "real world" may turn out to be a long walk on a hard road. But you don't know that. The "real world" may be fascinating and wild. There is a mystery out there. Again, embrace it! Remember what your purpose is here on this world. To enjoy your life and to create. To enjoy creating. I already know you are going to be all right. You don't need me to wish you the best of luck. But I will say Yay! for you. I will cheer you on. The world awaits you! xoxoxo
This could be a practical solution.
I went into a bank the other day, remember them? A shiny 3 storey building with a protest outside and red paint sprayed on the plate glass windows promising loans?
I was there to sort out my mother’s finance, and luckily the protest which I’d normally be on their side of, started while I was inside. Awkward.
The place was empty with only a couple of employees. So i asked, “What’s it like working here?” My advisor said “Well some days no one comes in, you can be here for 9 hours alone. For days at a time. Plus mostly my job is helping people use the banking app, not helping them with their finance.”
It struck me as the ideal job for a writer, “I hope you’re writing a novel then.”
He looked a bit shocked, then said “Yes, I am. A dystopian Sci Fi. Nearly finished..”
So maybe get a job in a bank?
Love this story ! It's true, though, writers (and artists and musicians and filmmakers...) are doing all kinds of jobs, (and can be inspired by their day jobs, as George was, for their real work). Sounds like that's the case for our bank-teller novelist!
Your concerns, questioner, show you to be someone of conscience and good will, those qualities fundamental as your young self (oh, to be 23 again and be granted a do-over!) navigates what you're calling the "real world". I don't know if the world is real or unreal or something else altogether, sometimes it's hard to tell, but I do know that you must do the thing you think you cannot do. This I stole from Eleanor Roosevelt, who knew a thing or two about doing what must be done regardless of what you think you can or can't do. (I have her words on a card on my office wall.) And in whatever state the world is in or not in, real or unreal. Art, some other kind of work, all of it things that your life is calling you to do you must do. If it's any comfort, you're not alone in your question---it's been the eternal one for the ages: how to work in the face of opposition. Well, opposition is unrelenting. It's a natural and constant condition of the world, real or unreal, which you'll discover if you haven't already. As for meeting its demands, don't sell yourself short! Judging by your question, you have a lot more going for you than you think!
Also, George recommends taking several hours and assessing your strengths, abilities, conditions, etc. Good advice. But don't be surprised if it takes more than an afternoon. You may find during periodic "meetings" with yourself that you come away with more clarity and purpose and direction than anything the real, or unreal, world may offer.
Seems to me Rosanne that you make fair and perceptive comment. What George may have concluded from one afternoon's intense afternoon's personal S.W.O.T. analysis and sober appraisal of how best to travel the way of a literary artist has never been a static snapshot but rather a rolling regular review of where he's been, is and what next. In many ways, for me, Story Club is a natural and very generously shared manifestation of his evolving and potent creativity.
Here are two other things, along with the Eleanor Roosevelt, that I have on my office wall, not directly related to writing but still true all the same. Hope these also help, questioner:
Concerning all acts of initiative or creation, there is one elemental truth: That the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves, too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would otherwise have never occurred. ----W.H. Murray, leader of the 1950 Scottish Himalayan expedition. (This I know to be especially true. Long story, but the reason I even have a writing life is owing to a long ago and beloved rescue dog.)
Then, speaking of Providence, there's this: If you bring forth what is within you then what you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you what you don't bring forth will destroy you. ----Jesus, in the Gospel of Thomas (Religiosity aside, there's truth here.)
indeed, one afternoon after another . . .
More and more often, and urgent, as the years go by.
I know. I didn't want to dwell on it, really :)
Understood ;)
I knew you would.
Don’t know how to acknowledge the very many ways I love this, or the linked Paris Review piece.
So I’ll just say thank you.
I hope everyone here makes time to read the Paris Review piece. A free dose of HOPE, people.
I’m rereading George’s post to locate the Paris Review link and I can’t seem to find it 🤓
Click on the underscored word "did" at the end of "that's what I did"--end of about the 6th paragraph.
Thank you so much! It’s a wonderful piece.
I'm a professional writer. I'm older. Old enough anyway to recognize how much things have changed in this world, especially when it comes to art and artists. This is a fantastic question and one that's been on my mind too. I think often about the kids entering the creative space today -- it's nothing like it was when I started out. It's harsher, smaller in a way, larger in others, and, hard to parse. The one thing that does give me hope is that great art is still happening, still pushing through like those flowers that find their way through the cracks in concrete sidewalks.
I remember in those uncertain months after 9/11 when I headed out to a public event for the first time in months. It was to hear Garrison Keillor speak at the Writers Guild of America. He's one of my literary heroes and he was fantastic as usual -- funny, irreverent, thoughtful, challenging and, probably because we all were then, defaulting into the philosophical.
When he opened the floor to questions, my hand shot up at the exact moment my mind when totally blank. Of course, I got called on. I didn't know what to say but, like George's letter writer, I'd spent months thinking about the world and where we were, where we were headed and not knowing what changes were ahead except that those changes were coming at us like tsunami warnings. Little did we know, right?
Anyway, I blurted out my question. A friend was recording so I was able to preserve it. I asked: "Many of us here write for a living. It's not hyperbole to say the world is different now -- scarier, crazier and not in a good way, smaller even and, maybe more dangerous. How do we sit down to write in a world that seems so angry, so full of hate and so seemingly lacking in empathy, that it takes a man-made tragedy to see it fully? What are we supposed to do now?"
Keillor's first response was to let out his breath as if he'd been holding it in for all of us. I could feel my heart beating so hard that I thought it was going to punch a hole through my throat. He followed the sigh with a half grin, the kind he's famous for that is both happy and somehow mournful at the same time. Then he responded, the large man with the booming voice that's in the same universe of comfort as Mr. Rogers.
He said the only thing we can do is to sit down and write. That the work itself is the most important contribution we give to the world and to quiet it now, at a moment when things seem so hopeless and sad, would be the biggest wrong. It's these times, he said, where art is the most important. Because art unites us in a way that speaks across generations, ethnicities, divisions, politics, class -- the whole human experience. Art is part of what helps us understand the world and each other.
I think a lot about what he said today, in the current climate when, while it seems impossible to think even now, is far worse than what occurred following the attacks on 9/11. If you recall, that event brought us closer together if only briefly. I have tried to hang on to that ideal -- that art reminds us that the things we share, help us better understand what separates and divides us and that opening your mind and your heart is a way to overcome in these days of ridiculous cruelty, bombast and despair.
One doesn't need to travel farther than one's local public library for confirmation that art is not only the thing that brings us closer, it's a source of comfort and knowledge. Even a cursory perusal of the classics is a stunningly accurate road map to where we find ourselves ("1984" or "Fahrenheit 451" anybody?) from writers who gifted the world books that make it seem as if they traveled to our future just to go back in time to warn us in the past. As George reminds us, too, art is the greatest bullshit meter. Because, big or small, great art tells the truth about the human condition in a way that not only connects us, but let's even the people who feel the most disconnected, know that there are others in the world just like them.
I forget this sometimes, but I've learned the universal truth about writers and writing: we writers write because we need to write. I think it's no accident, but rather an instinctual characteristic built into whatever part of our DNA pointed us to the blank page as our north star and made sure it was handed down to every generation of artists who must confront this wide, weird world of humanity in its infinite forms and formulations. "Art isn't an abstraction,: the great writer James Lee Burke once said to me, "it's a necessity." Well, damn.
I think I've overstayed my comment welcome and I'm too lazy to go back and edit it down so please forgive me. I will leave you with this quote that I've posted above my writing desk since I found it some 25 or so years ago, also by James Lee Burke.
"The most difficult test for me as a writer came during the middle of my career, when, after publishing three novels in New York, I went 13 years without a hardback publication. My novel ''The Lost Get-Back Boogie'' alone received 110 rejections during nine years of submission, supposedly a record in the industry.
It was during this period I had to relearn the lesson I had learned at 20, when I worked on the offshore oil crew: you write it a day at a time and let God be the measure of its worth; you let the score take care of itself; and most important, you never lose faith in your vision. God might choose fools and people who glow with neurosis for his partners in creation, but he doesn't make mistakes."
Reading and taking in all these in, I'm reminded of Alice McDermott's 2024 One Story address. https://lithub.com/alice-mcdermotts-writing-mantra-ah-fuck-em/
That speech by Alice McDermott is truly inspirational. Thank you, Dismas!
Such excellent advice! On an interview show years ago I heard Anthony Hopkins say exactly the same thing, which may account for his greatness, as well as Mc Dermott’’s!
I copied - so that I could Paste and Send (to a son) - this timely fragment from George's response:
" ... think about how, practically, to design a life that will continue to support [your] work."
I like that. It's not either/or. Not Real Life/Art. They are part of the mix of being alive, and there is a purpose on each side of the line. To support/To thrive.
(I like the agency implied in the word "design.")
"If having spotted a flying elephant you happen to find it land lightly on your lap in time for your next nourishment do remember to consume it slowly, in digestable, bite-size, chunks or, better yet, morsels."
Great question, that's always going to be as wide as it's deep and amenable to as many answers as there are thinking readers to respond to offer them. George's response is rich and right on the money, as was Paul Auster's reflection plucked appositely from back in the day.
A lot to food for thought in this Q&A already; thanks to both; enough said by me already and I'll give others the floor and look forward to reading contributions to what could be humdinger of a conversation to carry us forward towards and who knows on into the festive season: what a 🎁!!!
I'm not sure I could decide not to write, for any reason. I've tried not to write. It doesn't work. So there's the question, also, do we really have any choice in the pursuit of our obsessions? Do we have any choice when we were born and what lifetime we have lived? I don't think so. So, yeah, it's good to understand why and how you are going to continue writing when it's necessary to relate to your friends and family and strangers, even, when it's necessary to make a living, to maintain your health and be where else you need to be. But you're going to write, one way or another.
Love this advice about continuing writing post-MFA and writing during insane times. When I finished my MFA I was afraid I would not maintain my writing practice. One thing that helped was going to one conference or retreat a year to keep me accountable and writing regularly. Also, just got a ticket for the Nashville reading!
It's interesting (and weirdly encouraging) to hear that you struggled with "Jon" feeling like it was inconsequential in the shadow of 9/11. I read that story when it was published and it was earth-shaking. It captured how love is trapped, obstructed, re-routed, blocked, poisoned, and still might ultimately prevail in the midst of outrageous capitalist excess and exploitation. This was - and remains - a theme that preoccupies me and reading it at the time made me feel something like what you describe here - 'OK, there is still life to live and art like this story is out there and is an essential part of it and, wow, I feel seen and somehow more alive.' Maybe this is an example of how focusing on the "small" human stories, on the specifics of those, moment to moment, no matter how small they might feel, is one of the only ways to get at the larger truths of life on Earth. Instead of agonizing over whether the work matters, we need to trust that it IS bigger and more important than we know, tell the agony to hush up, and keep going.
Anna Akhmatova <33333
May I also suggest her spirit sis Marina Tsvetaeva and the su•cide inducingly beautiful Max Richter song whereupon she reads "How many people fell in this abyss": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G8BHZgCHQi8
Also brilliant.
What a thoughtful and beautiful answer for Q. Especially taking the time to review, especially the nervous system. When I was young I was too busy for that review and it would have been helpful. I still believe that only thing that's certain is uncertainty. Some days it looms large, others quite small when I'm in the flow of life, but it's always there sitting in the back seat.
But George, bring on the flying elephants! They're papered everywhere these days and ripe to be discovered and questioned. Let's question all of them and see what we write. Write on!
Good question and answer. I wanted to write for years but after my daughter was two and a half was on my own with her and oppressed by a large mortgage on our garden flat. Meant I had to take high stress jobs, in TV and then film, to pay for our life. My writing time was our holidays. At the station or airport I always bought a new journal. Every holiday my joy in writing was reborn. I did this for years and those journals have been a great source since I able, finally and in my fifties, to write full time.