Wow. George you are a sage and a kind one at that. While I'm still getting over my religious indoctrination, there is a concept in Jewish literature called mussar, which loosely translated is something like self-improvement or spiritual practice, and this newsletter is a wonderful example of that. (I felt so compelled to write, I haven't finished it yet.)
This is actually super personal for me: A week-and-a-half ago my wife gave birth to our first child, a boy named David Julian--who is probably the youngest member of the Story Club. He's still in the nic-u right now, but I've been thinking about this question a lot. (He's doing great! Thankfully. It was a complicated pregnancy, but he's healthy and just a tad on the small side.) I survived religious life by believing that art could save me; that I was writing something, that writing was the special thing I and only I had. Needless to say, that perspective has eroded as did a lot of my dedication to writing. But I can say that holding my son in the nic-u has given me something in ways that I can't express. Tenderness as George writes, it is as if I've joined the human race. Even though I've been so disillusioned lately with my own writing (for years now), I think inevitably whatever writing I do will suffer a bit, but I think it's a worthwhile exchange for what I hope will be a deeper insight into this strange endeavor of life.
Welcome to the world, David Julian! May you and your loved ones find joy and peace on this crazy spinning orb. My little girl started out life on the tiny side as well, but that just meant she could move faster than the other kids. :)
When I became a father I felt for the first time that it didn't so much matter whether my life attained any objective glory, by which identifiably provably unarguably best-ness; I'd always strived to prove that this book was better, that film more meaningful, that purpose more lofty...
What I came to feel mattered for me was a small, specific subjective item of wonder: in this case love for child and partner. I didn't have to prove (to myself or the world) that it was the best or most profound experience, just had to feel it and recognise that it mattered to me and that was enough.
Perhaps I should have known this anyway. Perhaps it was just me growing up a bit, which I should have achieved long before.
And it brought with it harm... I was blinded by my own subjective specific experience of wonder to the pain and fear felt by my partner.
I hadn't finished growing (and never will, I guess). These events happened, and I am learning from them much slower than I should or could, but I hope it has brought some measure of humility and compassion.
If that filters bit by bit into my work, then I would gladly accept that over having more time and energy.
Of course, you or anyone may be able to learn without becoming a parent... that's not the thing. I guess it's just SOMETHING that can open you up to, let's call it humanity. Maybe you're already further down that path than you realise.
This post invites happy reflections…thank you for mentioning your partner’s pain and fear. I also completely missed that, in the beginning…it’s all very mysterious and captivating, even when we think we might be going mad.
Thank you so much for this. I totally understand and feel the need for the objective glory but I'm hoping that will change. Thanks for the mention of your partner's pain. That's something I'll keep in mind.
Personal questions demand personal answers. I know I wasn't the one who was asked the question, but I have something to say about it, because I faced similar questions forty years ago when I was considering marriage and a family. I'm reminded of a story about Raymond Carver. When he had small children at home, and money problems, and shitty jobs, he would steal time for writing by sitting in his car, a notebook propped up against the steering wheel. I don't know if the story is true, but I often thought about it when I made excuses for myself, for why I wasn't writing during the years I had small children at home, and a demanding job, and the sorts of pressures that probably all of us experience.
I have a friend who is a literary agent, and I was talking to her one day about this, and she said to me, "Writers write." So for some years after, I didn't think of myself as a writer at all, because I simply wasn't writing. Then, a dozen years ago, something changed, and I couldn't not write. I felt compelled to. And I began to use my other responsibilities as a kind of foil. I would avoid them by working on a piece of writing, an assertion of sorts, maybe the assertion of a creative self.
Now my kids are grown and starting their own families. I'm lucky enough not to have to work for money anymore. And I'm writing again more seriously now, and my children and my experiences as a parent and the four decades of being a part of what I used to think of as the "real world" are all sources and inspirations. I love my family. Being a parent is the experience of a lifetime, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. Now, aside from climate change, the threats to our democracy, and the pandemic, all I have to worry about is having enough healthy time left in my life to accomplish something as a writer. I don't know what that means yet, but I'm working, and it's enough for now.
Side note: Story Club has been a blessing. I think of us as a community. Thank you all.
I am appreciative of the fellow who submitted this question because it's one that women writers have had to grapple with FOREVER and it is wonderful to hear men starting to grapple with it too. I'm glad that at least in some tiny quarter of our society, we are past the day when the Male Writer assumed he could work all day and then emerge from his study at 5 p.m. for gin and tonics, a nice dinner with some writer friends, and a pat on the head for his bathed and pajamaed children.
I fretted a lot about becoming a mother. Not just "what will happen to my writing time," but "will I lose myself as a person." I feared becoming a small figure in a housecoat in the background of someone else's picture. Ultimately I took the plunge but had only one child, which allowed me time to be a parent but also do other things in my life. Now in my 60s, I do not regret it at all, although the first three years or so were probably the most challenging of my life and my marriage. There will be really hard times when writing is lost in the shuffle, but they pass.
In the long run of your life, writing can be a disappointment -- unfinished or unpublished work, lack of recognition, work that you're not proud of. Children can also turn out to be a disappointment -- estranged and angry, making bad choices, even Trump supporters. ;-)
But writing can be a consolation when the children are frustrating, and children can be a consolation when the writing is frustrating. While a monastic devotion to art is often praised, maybe there is something for the "not all eggs in one basket" approach to life.
Ultimately I agree with George: It comes down to "know yourself."
A few years ago I attended a panel of authors at my son's school for their annual book fair "Book Night" event where they invite community members, parents, alumni etc. to discuss their recent publications. The panel had two women (including Min Jin Lee) and two men. Both the women talked about their struggles to find time to write, often in between loads of laundry and school drop offs. Both men described how they were patrons of writing spaces, where they paid to go away from their homes to work without distraction. Both women were as successful (if not more) than the two men on the panel. It was an interesting illustration of the role of work and art in a person's life.
I agree with everyone who has posted here that says it is a very personal decision. If you want to see some arguments on the side of not having a family, I suggest you read "There are no Children Here" one of the essays by Ann Patchett in her latest book, "These Precious Days" (I keep finding reasons to mention her book in these convos!). Her (many) reasons are also very personal.
I have two grown children, and have also had dogs. Dogs can take you away from your work too - especially when they are old and have to go out a lot! But in general I have found in both these instances, I got more than I gave, and my art (musical performance and only recently writing) has been better for it.
I like the "not all eggs in one basket" you mention. There's so much evidence that a healthy life depends upon relationships, not just family, but friendship as well.
You will absolutely lose yourself as a person, and that can be a beautiful thing because when you lose yourself you metamorpihize into something more delicate, and fleeting, and true.
As a father and writer I couldn’t agree more with this beautiful answer by George.
For the person asking, if you’re reading this, I believe becoming a father will ‘unlock’ a way of writing that is deeper than you could’ve ever imagined—just like it unlocks love on a deeper level.
I, for one, am very grateful for having my kids (even after almost losing one, with all the pain it entails, twice!). They’re even regulars in my writing now. ;)
Hi Jibran. I, too, am a parent, and my children have made me who i am today. That being said, those without children are living lives you and I cannot know, having taken a different road. Having a child "unlocked" you, as you say. That doesn't mean those without children will not "unlock" their writing and lead them to a deeper place. The idea that we with children somehow know a deeper love than those without children is an idea that we cannot prove. For you, it took you deeper. For me, as well. But i have many friends without children living deeply loving, fulfilling and satisfying lives. The human heart is wide and vast and, mostly, unknowable.
This comment shows real wisdom, Mary (as does Jibran's reply to you too).
It would be mistaken, I think, to imagine that parents and non-parents will end up with the same kinds of wisdom and levels of love. They won't IMO, because the two paths are just too different.
As you suggest, though, it would be equally wrong to assume that those attained by parents are necessarily superior. It is clearly the case that there are indeed levels of love and wisdom that parents found transforming, but that doesn't mean that these are only attainable through parenthood. There are many ways of necessary transformation other than having children.
It might equally be said that there are certain kinds of adventurousness that for obvious reasons are more likely to be undertaken by those without children, who are therefore more likely to reap the rewards that such risks can offer, and that this encourages a generally more open and so more creative mind than does parenthood. But this doesn't mean these adventures can *never* be gone through by parents.
I like how this is so inclusive. If nothing else happens in the world, a degree of understanding and empathy for people with radically different experiences of life will go a long way. I decided at fifteen to never marry or have children, concluding that without those chains I could experience more of Love and Adventure. This worked fairly well for a long time; eventually I began to feel I was missing out on something (the exact feeling I had tried so hard not to feel!) I began to change my mind, or to try to. (Not so easy to turn some ships around, though.) Finally I decided it was too late, I would have to be content with the results of my original thought. A year after that, BAM, I suddenly and quite unexpectedly got what I now thought I wanted! And it’s been difficult, and utterly challenging, and amazing, and astonishing. (And possibly better for writing, in my case, because time has become a priceless commodity, but even more so because I feel, as George intimated, more plugged in.) It’s strange to have been all in on both sides of this question, but apparently I would not have had it any other way.
"A year after that, BAM, I suddenly and quite unexpectedly got what I now thought I wanted! And it’s been difficult, and utterly challenging, and amazing, and astonishing."
Oh boy can I relate.
And this is of course the third possibility: that these two modes of being alternate throughout our lives, and also intermingle. My current relationship is the longest I've had, and the deepest and most loving, but also among the least restricting, which leaves all the more time for writing.
Thank you for that, Sean. I think they do alternate, and mingle. Sounds like a great relationship! In Desert Solitaire Edward Abbey wrote, “Love flowers best in openness and freedom.” When I first read that my thought was, sounds good, but most people don’t see it like that. I think he was right, though. It takes time to realize what levels of love we can create, and rise to.
Ah, I agree with you on all fronts Mary. Maybe I could’ve worded it differently.
I certainly believe that deep love and connection is possible without kids. Though I do think it cannot go without servitude and sacrifice in some way, which there are many roads for other than having kids. Taking care of homeless, sick parents, siblings, animals, etc.
It could very well be that the “valence” of the deep love will be different in each type of journey one takes. And I certainly don’t think I have experienced everything because I have kids. It’s likely that there are deep feelings I will never experience _because_ I have kids.
But I can only write from experience and everyone who reads it should read it as such. My experience.
You’re both right. This might be my favorite post by George (is it possible to have a favorite?). Hitting really close to my recent experience. I love the last line of your post, Mary. The human heart, like the universe from which it springs.
It’s incredible, right? I suppose a large part of what makes GS such a wonderful writer and teacher lies in thinking deeply about the world and our places in it. And his openness to everyone and everything is astonishing, especially during an era when so many of us may be closing windows and doors.
I think it's also George's humility and willingness to approach things with vulnerability even when we all look up to him as the 'expert.' It would be just so easy for him to coast, or to not reveal his doubts. But instead he lets us in, while also admitting his ambition. It's not pure altruism and it's not blind ambition. What a marvelous example he sets.
I agree this might be the best post ever by George. It touched my heart, was full of honesty, insight and humility. It surpassed the previous best post ever in my life, by George, which was something like two weeks ago. Similarly, the comments keep getting better, sharper, deeper. I am blown away by the intelligence and emotions investigated in story club. What a stroke of luck to have stumbled into this group.
Luck, yes. And some kind of literary magnetism, or gravity. I agree, like a great book, it just keeps getting better. I am so grateful and overjoyed to be a part of this journey.
“It was as if I’d joined the human race, for better or worse.”
I read this as I’m sitting here in the delivery room with my wife, excited and terrified in equal measure, waiting for my first child to born. What a gift. Thank you, George! And thank you to the other amazing comments here. (We, too, are looking at a week or two in the NICU.)
I loved the question. So many of us have fears and worries, we fret over that fork in the road ahead. I guess it's a way of trying to control the future. Anyway, I never wanted kids (even as a little girl I'd tell people I didn't want kids) and I don't regret it. None of my childless friends regret not having kids. My choice had nothing to do with thinking that kids would interfere with any goal I had. I do think I'd regret, at the end of life looking back, "putting all my eggs in one basket" as some wise Story Clubber just wrote. I put time and energy into my marriage, my friendships, my yoga practice, and now this kick ass class right here.
"So writing at night was possible and writing on the bus on the way to work, and so on. It turned out that I didn’t really need much peace and quiet – I could write well in the maelstrom of the office and maybe, at that time anyway, even benefited from it."
If low wages and status don't bother you, then as a writer you could do worse than working, for a few years at least, as a security guard, a job that can provide plenty of time for writing on duty.
I was working as a nightguard in a psychiatric hospital, and was close to being sacked for falling asleep on the job. Reading just wasn't keeping me awake, or coffee or Red Bulls, but then I discovered that writing fiction is so demanding, and therefore so stimulating, that it did the trick. It felt quite odd to rush off to some violent incident in the hospital and still be working out sentences in your head, but as George suggests, the writing itself may have benefited from the maelstrom.
Regarding this thread's wider issue, all I can say is that I've definitely noticed an increase in the quality of writing if I can spend 10 to 12 hours per day on it, rather than the apparent industry standard of 3 to 5. I wouldn't claim to be in *the* zone at such times, but I'm certainly in *a* zone that seems to allow that subconscious so beloved by our mentor to take over. It can be quite draining, obviously, and you're more than a little mad, especially if you keep this routine up for months. But it's the only time when (I think) I've ever significantly improved.
Wasn't it Einstein who had a menial job in the post office while his mind was working on things that were, let's just say, a bit more intense and complicated?
Sadly the insights I reached on duty were somewhat below the level of Einstein's. Instead of revolutionising humanity's conceptions of time and space, mine were more along the lines of "Um, these bloodsplashed drunks being brought in in ambulances don't seem very happy, Sean. Maybe it's time you cut down on the booze."
Today's question is lovely for, among other things but most especially, its bravery; George's answer lovelier still for its honesty. And thank you both. I'm guessing that I'm older than the Clubber who posed the question and if experience, mine or anyone else's, counts for anything, I'd say this: listen to your heart. You'll hear it & will know what to do. Writing, or any sort of art or activity, and life are not either/or. They're both. And constantly. No escaping. When I was young I never thought I'd marry. I never saw myself as "marriage material", though I wasn't entirely sure what "material" meant, only that I saw myself as alone. Not lonely, just alone. (No cats involved!) Then I met the man who has been my husband for the last 37 years. When I clapped eyes on his handsome face for the very first time, I heard it---that all-essential word: "kind". I literally, quite literally, heard the word in my head. Who spoke? I think some version of my heart. Which I had the good sense to heed. All I can say is that his kindness has guided my days, writing & otherwise. So, if there's anything I'd suggest, such as I can offer anything, it would be to encourage you to listen, to pay close attention, to trust that you'll be guided, that you'll know what to do, that it isn't an either/or, it's a yes!, when you hear it.
Great story! And I love that it isn’t either/or. How often do we not know we have the key to the unlock the chains in which we’ve bound ourselves? (Thanks to The Eagles for the image and the great guitar work, not to mention the vocals!)
A scarily honest question and a wise answer from George.
Some quick thoughts from my experience. Please draw your own conclusions. I am a man. I had similar trepidations. I had three children. I realised how much time I wasted before becoming a father. I ended up working more but in a shorter time. I worked as a TV writer in a low stress medium paid job and was a stay at home dad while my wife worked full time and then did a PhD. Then my wife said to take some time to concentrate on my writing and not to worry about taking TV jobs I hated. I became a dilettante again with all that spare time. I have achieved nothing in 8 years while having near total freedom. I love my children. My life as a prose writer is unproductive and seemingly pointless. I’m pretty happy. I have few money worries if I live sensibly, but not as a result of my prose writing. Who knows what’s going to happen? I would not and could not have planned this but am satisfied with the circumstances. I don’t know what any of this means. Honestly, it probably says more about white privilege than anything else.
Enjoyed your honesty. Thankyou. I too feel the same way, we have fantasies of being great writers, and maybe we are not, and life passes us by. The best one can do is try and not mind so much if our fantasies turn out to be non productive fantasies. Writers are not rich ( except JK Rowling), so giving up a good full life, for little money is a monastic dream and perhaps based on a false sense of your own greatness......why give up on loving your wife and children? Good for you to prioritize your life, and speak honestly...
Isn’t it strange that having time somehow encourages us to ‘waste’ it? And how having almost no free time can provide focus? (Speaking for myself at least!)
I love the first paragraph of George's answer. And I'm looking forward to many smart comments. Such a very personal question and so depends on who you are! Maybe the decision is not entirely ours to make? Who knows, will you find the right person to make that commitment to? And even if you do, you still might not have a child. So complicated!
Having just started reading Silences (which is amazing so far), I could see how reading it (and a million other things) might make you think twice. I haven't gotten too far in it, so maybe she touches on this, but in the end, looking over your life, this life, our life--is art the only goal? Maybe for some it is. As I get older though, I start to think that maybe it's okay for that part-time art to exist. Our lives aren't only about one thing, our lives are multidimensional, and sometimes those other dimensions can be better than art.
When I spend time doing other things in my life, it takes the pressure off my desire to make something great and thus softening the disappointment in maybe not reaching my goals. Maybe that's a little of the "low expectations" camp, but it's how I work!
“Maybe the decision is not entirely ours to make?” Wow. Yes and no, maybe. I want to think we decided to be here in the first place. But is that true? And does it matter? What is the web of being that sustains us, anyway? Can we exist outside it?
Who knows? I just know that nothing ever works the way you think it's going to or the way you want it to. You can't get attached, and you have to have a sense of play. I think that's a good rule of revision, too, actually...
Yes. With living, writing or dancing, being able to go with the flow and adjust to the sudden change in rhythm, key, or chording is critical. Ah, but practicing non-attachment (and practicing, and practicing) is so important!! And a sense of playfulness. Being willing to stay in the game. Thanks, Julia.
I became a parent just a few weeks ago. Sharing some of the fears posed in this question, I treated the due date as a deadline to finish my novel. Ha! Didn't happen. I got blocked for the last four months of the pregnancy. All the time I was telling myself, "You won't get this freedom back, you're wasting an opportunity..." and that self-applied pressure did not help one bit.
But you know what happened? My life changed overnight. You can read books about parenting, take courses on it, ask people questions... but nothing can truly prepare you for it. And just as George said so eloquently, there's a new layer to everything in your worldview. Life feels different. I think that unlocked (and unblocked) something in me.
Despite the broken sleep and overwhelming sense of responsibility, I'm back writing again, the ideas are flowing, and I'm lovin' it.
My wife is an artist. She has had a good career, nothing earth-shattering (she's not famous), but she has had 40 one-person shows in New York City and in Maine, and is well-respected by her peers. Neither one of us ever thought we would have kids, but we got together in our thirties and had children fairly late. She managed to be a great mother and keep her serious work going, and our three children lived with her commitment to her work and never suffered for it. They watched her work hard and be with them totally when she was not in the studio and a wonderful example was set for them, and for me. They suffered my absences more; supporting a family in the city required a lot from me. My wife's experience demonstrates that it is possible to do this, to have a creative life and a family life, all at the same time, if one feels compelled to do both. I think that's the key, to feel compelled by something deep and fundamental inside oneself. Luck plays a role too, of course.
I have no business really, commenting here --- I don’t have children “of my own” --- Godchildren and stepchildren who came to me past the time when their survival depended on my devotion. I spent 3 years in my 20’s as a governess for a small child, but I was not her mother. I’m in my 60’s now and my observations could be blurry, but…
Over and over again, in my 30’s and early 40’s, my close male friends would express some version of the following at the birth of their first child, “yesterday I understood 1%, today 90%” or “we think we bring a child into the world but it’s really the other way around, a child brings us into the world.” (Galway Kinnell crafted an entire collection of poems (“The Book of Nightmares” ) inspired by the birth of his first child.) But I don’t know a single mother who expressed this thought --- that having children fostered a kind of induction.
I do know a woman who finishing her PhD research at John’s Hopkins listened to the voice recordings of black boxes retrieved from flights that had crashed and who do you imagine in this dark moment the pilots were calling for? One after the next.
By now I have witnessed many different styles of mothering and at close range, but always with my nose pressed to glass separating me from the viscera of that experience. I know mothers who judge me for not having made the “great sacrifice.” I know mothers who rely on my home as refuge. I know mothers who leave their children in my care as temporary relief. I know mothers who have given up a writing life so as not to aggravate a sense of being divided. I do not know any mothers who have a working life who do not feel divided.
For years I hosted an annual brunch for my women friends – ranging in age from 24 to 70. We’d gather at a long table and every year by the end of the brunch the mothers were all at one end, a law of gravity. All of them, every single one, bemoaning NOT the lack of time or lack of freedom, but a divided self. I’ve come to think that mothering does this, divides the self, in a way that fathering does not --- as if inside every mother’s body is a tiny amplifier, with a lifetime warranty, set to the frequency of the child’s need.
There may be mothers out there, for whom this is not your experience – I would be pleased to know.
In the meanwhile, every summer I devote myself to a writer --- reading a few books by the same author. For the last few years, I’ve privileged women who have written books with children underfoot. My modest way of honoring the willingness to endure this divide.
You wrote: "But I don’t know a single mother who expressed this thought --- that having children fostered a kind of induction."
This is my experience: I was absolutely gob-smacked by the weight of what had just occurred when I gave birth to my first child, by the sudden realization that a massive responsibility was now mine--forever. I was one person before my first child was born, and another person altogether the moment my baby emerged. Night and day. I can't begin to describe to you the intensity of that realization which I had known intellectually, but suddenly felt viscerally in every cell of my being.
Responding to your idea about a mother's divided self would take me far too long! Suffice it to say that all parents feel divided. There is the life a person leads outside the home, and then there is the parenting. Many fathers have that tiny amplifier you mention. It's just that traditionally, the role of parenting has fallen mostly on women.
and yes, of course, you have business commenting here! Happy to read your words, your take on things.
It’s very interesting to try, somewhat late in life, to try to split that role, especially since I am a baby boomer, my wife is a Millennial, and our child is Gen-A. We’re all approximately 30 years apart from one another. Needless to say a ton of communication and negotiation is required to get through each day. Sometimes painful, but always eye-opening.
George said it so well. I would add the following:
I echo your sentiments about needing time to do deep thinking and close the door and write. I have always known on some level that I am an introvert however this has crystalized recently as I have been reading "Quiet: The power of introverts in a world which cannot stop talking." I wonder whether you identify as an introvert and if not it is something perhaps to consider going forward.
Wow. George you are a sage and a kind one at that. While I'm still getting over my religious indoctrination, there is a concept in Jewish literature called mussar, which loosely translated is something like self-improvement or spiritual practice, and this newsletter is a wonderful example of that. (I felt so compelled to write, I haven't finished it yet.)
This is actually super personal for me: A week-and-a-half ago my wife gave birth to our first child, a boy named David Julian--who is probably the youngest member of the Story Club. He's still in the nic-u right now, but I've been thinking about this question a lot. (He's doing great! Thankfully. It was a complicated pregnancy, but he's healthy and just a tad on the small side.) I survived religious life by believing that art could save me; that I was writing something, that writing was the special thing I and only I had. Needless to say, that perspective has eroded as did a lot of my dedication to writing. But I can say that holding my son in the nic-u has given me something in ways that I can't express. Tenderness as George writes, it is as if I've joined the human race. Even though I've been so disillusioned lately with my own writing (for years now), I think inevitably whatever writing I do will suffer a bit, but I think it's a worthwhile exchange for what I hope will be a deeper insight into this strange endeavor of life.
After reading A Swim in the Pond, I had that old warm feeling that George was my rabbi and I an eager disciple at his feet.
Welcome to the world, David Julian! May you and your loved ones find joy and peace on this crazy spinning orb. My little girl started out life on the tiny side as well, but that just meant she could move faster than the other kids. :)
Can I offer personal testimony...
When I became a father I felt for the first time that it didn't so much matter whether my life attained any objective glory, by which identifiably provably unarguably best-ness; I'd always strived to prove that this book was better, that film more meaningful, that purpose more lofty...
What I came to feel mattered for me was a small, specific subjective item of wonder: in this case love for child and partner. I didn't have to prove (to myself or the world) that it was the best or most profound experience, just had to feel it and recognise that it mattered to me and that was enough.
Perhaps I should have known this anyway. Perhaps it was just me growing up a bit, which I should have achieved long before.
And it brought with it harm... I was blinded by my own subjective specific experience of wonder to the pain and fear felt by my partner.
I hadn't finished growing (and never will, I guess). These events happened, and I am learning from them much slower than I should or could, but I hope it has brought some measure of humility and compassion.
If that filters bit by bit into my work, then I would gladly accept that over having more time and energy.
Of course, you or anyone may be able to learn without becoming a parent... that's not the thing. I guess it's just SOMETHING that can open you up to, let's call it humanity. Maybe you're already further down that path than you realise.
This post invites happy reflections…thank you for mentioning your partner’s pain and fear. I also completely missed that, in the beginning…it’s all very mysterious and captivating, even when we think we might be going mad.
Thank you so much for this. I totally understand and feel the need for the objective glory but I'm hoping that will change. Thanks for the mention of your partner's pain. That's something I'll keep in mind.
Writing and love have their ways of coming back around to you. Congratulations!!
Mazel tov on the newest member of your family!
Thanks! And thanks for your great question last time!
Personal questions demand personal answers. I know I wasn't the one who was asked the question, but I have something to say about it, because I faced similar questions forty years ago when I was considering marriage and a family. I'm reminded of a story about Raymond Carver. When he had small children at home, and money problems, and shitty jobs, he would steal time for writing by sitting in his car, a notebook propped up against the steering wheel. I don't know if the story is true, but I often thought about it when I made excuses for myself, for why I wasn't writing during the years I had small children at home, and a demanding job, and the sorts of pressures that probably all of us experience.
I have a friend who is a literary agent, and I was talking to her one day about this, and she said to me, "Writers write." So for some years after, I didn't think of myself as a writer at all, because I simply wasn't writing. Then, a dozen years ago, something changed, and I couldn't not write. I felt compelled to. And I began to use my other responsibilities as a kind of foil. I would avoid them by working on a piece of writing, an assertion of sorts, maybe the assertion of a creative self.
Now my kids are grown and starting their own families. I'm lucky enough not to have to work for money anymore. And I'm writing again more seriously now, and my children and my experiences as a parent and the four decades of being a part of what I used to think of as the "real world" are all sources and inspirations. I love my family. Being a parent is the experience of a lifetime, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. Now, aside from climate change, the threats to our democracy, and the pandemic, all I have to worry about is having enough healthy time left in my life to accomplish something as a writer. I don't know what that means yet, but I'm working, and it's enough for now.
Side note: Story Club has been a blessing. I think of us as a community. Thank you all.
agree total blessing
Jon I love this. And your side note, I feel the same.
Thank you Stacya.
Good luck on your writing!
Thank you Michael.
I am appreciative of the fellow who submitted this question because it's one that women writers have had to grapple with FOREVER and it is wonderful to hear men starting to grapple with it too. I'm glad that at least in some tiny quarter of our society, we are past the day when the Male Writer assumed he could work all day and then emerge from his study at 5 p.m. for gin and tonics, a nice dinner with some writer friends, and a pat on the head for his bathed and pajamaed children.
I fretted a lot about becoming a mother. Not just "what will happen to my writing time," but "will I lose myself as a person." I feared becoming a small figure in a housecoat in the background of someone else's picture. Ultimately I took the plunge but had only one child, which allowed me time to be a parent but also do other things in my life. Now in my 60s, I do not regret it at all, although the first three years or so were probably the most challenging of my life and my marriage. There will be really hard times when writing is lost in the shuffle, but they pass.
In the long run of your life, writing can be a disappointment -- unfinished or unpublished work, lack of recognition, work that you're not proud of. Children can also turn out to be a disappointment -- estranged and angry, making bad choices, even Trump supporters. ;-)
But writing can be a consolation when the children are frustrating, and children can be a consolation when the writing is frustrating. While a monastic devotion to art is often praised, maybe there is something for the "not all eggs in one basket" approach to life.
Ultimately I agree with George: It comes down to "know yourself."
A few years ago I attended a panel of authors at my son's school for their annual book fair "Book Night" event where they invite community members, parents, alumni etc. to discuss their recent publications. The panel had two women (including Min Jin Lee) and two men. Both the women talked about their struggles to find time to write, often in between loads of laundry and school drop offs. Both men described how they were patrons of writing spaces, where they paid to go away from their homes to work without distraction. Both women were as successful (if not more) than the two men on the panel. It was an interesting illustration of the role of work and art in a person's life.
I agree with everyone who has posted here that says it is a very personal decision. If you want to see some arguments on the side of not having a family, I suggest you read "There are no Children Here" one of the essays by Ann Patchett in her latest book, "These Precious Days" (I keep finding reasons to mention her book in these convos!). Her (many) reasons are also very personal.
I have two grown children, and have also had dogs. Dogs can take you away from your work too - especially when they are old and have to go out a lot! But in general I have found in both these instances, I got more than I gave, and my art (musical performance and only recently writing) has been better for it.
I like the "not all eggs in one basket" you mention. There's so much evidence that a healthy life depends upon relationships, not just family, but friendship as well.
Friendship may well be the ultimate aphrodisiac of the soul.
You will absolutely lose yourself as a person, and that can be a beautiful thing because when you lose yourself you metamorpihize into something more delicate, and fleeting, and true.
As a father and writer I couldn’t agree more with this beautiful answer by George.
For the person asking, if you’re reading this, I believe becoming a father will ‘unlock’ a way of writing that is deeper than you could’ve ever imagined—just like it unlocks love on a deeper level.
I, for one, am very grateful for having my kids (even after almost losing one, with all the pain it entails, twice!). They’re even regulars in my writing now. ;)
Hi Jibran. I, too, am a parent, and my children have made me who i am today. That being said, those without children are living lives you and I cannot know, having taken a different road. Having a child "unlocked" you, as you say. That doesn't mean those without children will not "unlock" their writing and lead them to a deeper place. The idea that we with children somehow know a deeper love than those without children is an idea that we cannot prove. For you, it took you deeper. For me, as well. But i have many friends without children living deeply loving, fulfilling and satisfying lives. The human heart is wide and vast and, mostly, unknowable.
This comment shows real wisdom, Mary (as does Jibran's reply to you too).
It would be mistaken, I think, to imagine that parents and non-parents will end up with the same kinds of wisdom and levels of love. They won't IMO, because the two paths are just too different.
As you suggest, though, it would be equally wrong to assume that those attained by parents are necessarily superior. It is clearly the case that there are indeed levels of love and wisdom that parents found transforming, but that doesn't mean that these are only attainable through parenthood. There are many ways of necessary transformation other than having children.
It might equally be said that there are certain kinds of adventurousness that for obvious reasons are more likely to be undertaken by those without children, who are therefore more likely to reap the rewards that such risks can offer, and that this encourages a generally more open and so more creative mind than does parenthood. But this doesn't mean these adventures can *never* be gone through by parents.
I like how this is so inclusive. If nothing else happens in the world, a degree of understanding and empathy for people with radically different experiences of life will go a long way. I decided at fifteen to never marry or have children, concluding that without those chains I could experience more of Love and Adventure. This worked fairly well for a long time; eventually I began to feel I was missing out on something (the exact feeling I had tried so hard not to feel!) I began to change my mind, or to try to. (Not so easy to turn some ships around, though.) Finally I decided it was too late, I would have to be content with the results of my original thought. A year after that, BAM, I suddenly and quite unexpectedly got what I now thought I wanted! And it’s been difficult, and utterly challenging, and amazing, and astonishing. (And possibly better for writing, in my case, because time has become a priceless commodity, but even more so because I feel, as George intimated, more plugged in.) It’s strange to have been all in on both sides of this question, but apparently I would not have had it any other way.
"A year after that, BAM, I suddenly and quite unexpectedly got what I now thought I wanted! And it’s been difficult, and utterly challenging, and amazing, and astonishing."
Oh boy can I relate.
And this is of course the third possibility: that these two modes of being alternate throughout our lives, and also intermingle. My current relationship is the longest I've had, and the deepest and most loving, but also among the least restricting, which leaves all the more time for writing.
Thank you for that, Sean. I think they do alternate, and mingle. Sounds like a great relationship! In Desert Solitaire Edward Abbey wrote, “Love flowers best in openness and freedom.” When I first read that my thought was, sounds good, but most people don’t see it like that. I think he was right, though. It takes time to realize what levels of love we can create, and rise to.
So very nicely said, Sean. Thank you for adding your thoughts.
Ah, I agree with you on all fronts Mary. Maybe I could’ve worded it differently.
I certainly believe that deep love and connection is possible without kids. Though I do think it cannot go without servitude and sacrifice in some way, which there are many roads for other than having kids. Taking care of homeless, sick parents, siblings, animals, etc.
It could very well be that the “valence” of the deep love will be different in each type of journey one takes. And I certainly don’t think I have experienced everything because I have kids. It’s likely that there are deep feelings I will never experience _because_ I have kids.
But I can only write from experience and everyone who reads it should read it as such. My experience.
Thank you for taking my words as they were meant, Jibran--not as an attack, but as an addition to your thoughts and experience.
You’re both right. This might be my favorite post by George (is it possible to have a favorite?). Hitting really close to my recent experience. I love the last line of your post, Mary. The human heart, like the universe from which it springs.
George's reply to the questioner was so loving and thoughtful--I learn so much about kindness and love from his words, week after week.
It’s incredible, right? I suppose a large part of what makes GS such a wonderful writer and teacher lies in thinking deeply about the world and our places in it. And his openness to everyone and everything is astonishing, especially during an era when so many of us may be closing windows and doors.
I think it's also George's humility and willingness to approach things with vulnerability even when we all look up to him as the 'expert.' It would be just so easy for him to coast, or to not reveal his doubts. But instead he lets us in, while also admitting his ambition. It's not pure altruism and it's not blind ambition. What a marvelous example he sets.
“…he lets us in.” What a gift that is.
I agree this might be the best post ever by George. It touched my heart, was full of honesty, insight and humility. It surpassed the previous best post ever in my life, by George, which was something like two weeks ago. Similarly, the comments keep getting better, sharper, deeper. I am blown away by the intelligence and emotions investigated in story club. What a stroke of luck to have stumbled into this group.
Luck, yes. And some kind of literary magnetism, or gravity. I agree, like a great book, it just keeps getting better. I am so grateful and overjoyed to be a part of this journey.
“It was as if I’d joined the human race, for better or worse.”
I read this as I’m sitting here in the delivery room with my wife, excited and terrified in equal measure, waiting for my first child to born. What a gift. Thank you, George! And thank you to the other amazing comments here. (We, too, are looking at a week or two in the NICU.)
Can’t wait to join the writer-dad-human club.
Best wishes! The NICU is a special place and the NICU nurses are really special people.
You're already in the Human Club, Ryan! You & your fam. Yay for you all---and all blessings!
Oh, Ryan. All best wishes to you and yours.
That is some timing, Ryan!
I loved the question. So many of us have fears and worries, we fret over that fork in the road ahead. I guess it's a way of trying to control the future. Anyway, I never wanted kids (even as a little girl I'd tell people I didn't want kids) and I don't regret it. None of my childless friends regret not having kids. My choice had nothing to do with thinking that kids would interfere with any goal I had. I do think I'd regret, at the end of life looking back, "putting all my eggs in one basket" as some wise Story Clubber just wrote. I put time and energy into my marriage, my friendships, my yoga practice, and now this kick ass class right here.
"So writing at night was possible and writing on the bus on the way to work, and so on. It turned out that I didn’t really need much peace and quiet – I could write well in the maelstrom of the office and maybe, at that time anyway, even benefited from it."
If low wages and status don't bother you, then as a writer you could do worse than working, for a few years at least, as a security guard, a job that can provide plenty of time for writing on duty.
I was working as a nightguard in a psychiatric hospital, and was close to being sacked for falling asleep on the job. Reading just wasn't keeping me awake, or coffee or Red Bulls, but then I discovered that writing fiction is so demanding, and therefore so stimulating, that it did the trick. It felt quite odd to rush off to some violent incident in the hospital and still be working out sentences in your head, but as George suggests, the writing itself may have benefited from the maelstrom.
Regarding this thread's wider issue, all I can say is that I've definitely noticed an increase in the quality of writing if I can spend 10 to 12 hours per day on it, rather than the apparent industry standard of 3 to 5. I wouldn't claim to be in *the* zone at such times, but I'm certainly in *a* zone that seems to allow that subconscious so beloved by our mentor to take over. It can be quite draining, obviously, and you're more than a little mad, especially if you keep this routine up for months. But it's the only time when (I think) I've ever significantly improved.
Wow! Third para first sentence is the start of a story IMO.
Wasn't it Einstein who had a menial job in the post office while his mind was working on things that were, let's just say, a bit more intense and complicated?
Indeed.
Sadly the insights I reached on duty were somewhat below the level of Einstein's. Instead of revolutionising humanity's conceptions of time and space, mine were more along the lines of "Um, these bloodsplashed drunks being brought in in ambulances don't seem very happy, Sean. Maybe it's time you cut down on the booze."
Today's question is lovely for, among other things but most especially, its bravery; George's answer lovelier still for its honesty. And thank you both. I'm guessing that I'm older than the Clubber who posed the question and if experience, mine or anyone else's, counts for anything, I'd say this: listen to your heart. You'll hear it & will know what to do. Writing, or any sort of art or activity, and life are not either/or. They're both. And constantly. No escaping. When I was young I never thought I'd marry. I never saw myself as "marriage material", though I wasn't entirely sure what "material" meant, only that I saw myself as alone. Not lonely, just alone. (No cats involved!) Then I met the man who has been my husband for the last 37 years. When I clapped eyes on his handsome face for the very first time, I heard it---that all-essential word: "kind". I literally, quite literally, heard the word in my head. Who spoke? I think some version of my heart. Which I had the good sense to heed. All I can say is that his kindness has guided my days, writing & otherwise. So, if there's anything I'd suggest, such as I can offer anything, it would be to encourage you to listen, to pay close attention, to trust that you'll be guided, that you'll know what to do, that it isn't an either/or, it's a yes!, when you hear it.
This is terrific, Rosanne—thank you for sharing it!
Well expressed Rosanne^^
Great story! And I love that it isn’t either/or. How often do we not know we have the key to the unlock the chains in which we’ve bound ourselves? (Thanks to The Eagles for the image and the great guitar work, not to mention the vocals!)
A scarily honest question and a wise answer from George.
Some quick thoughts from my experience. Please draw your own conclusions. I am a man. I had similar trepidations. I had three children. I realised how much time I wasted before becoming a father. I ended up working more but in a shorter time. I worked as a TV writer in a low stress medium paid job and was a stay at home dad while my wife worked full time and then did a PhD. Then my wife said to take some time to concentrate on my writing and not to worry about taking TV jobs I hated. I became a dilettante again with all that spare time. I have achieved nothing in 8 years while having near total freedom. I love my children. My life as a prose writer is unproductive and seemingly pointless. I’m pretty happy. I have few money worries if I live sensibly, but not as a result of my prose writing. Who knows what’s going to happen? I would not and could not have planned this but am satisfied with the circumstances. I don’t know what any of this means. Honestly, it probably says more about white privilege than anything else.
Enjoyed your honesty. Thankyou. I too feel the same way, we have fantasies of being great writers, and maybe we are not, and life passes us by. The best one can do is try and not mind so much if our fantasies turn out to be non productive fantasies. Writers are not rich ( except JK Rowling), so giving up a good full life, for little money is a monastic dream and perhaps based on a false sense of your own greatness......why give up on loving your wife and children? Good for you to prioritize your life, and speak honestly...
Isn’t it strange that having time somehow encourages us to ‘waste’ it? And how having almost no free time can provide focus? (Speaking for myself at least!)
You speak for me, too! I think that's why the deadline was invented!
It’s so right. A bit like the option paralysis when faced with too many choices.
Exactly.
I love the first paragraph of George's answer. And I'm looking forward to many smart comments. Such a very personal question and so depends on who you are! Maybe the decision is not entirely ours to make? Who knows, will you find the right person to make that commitment to? And even if you do, you still might not have a child. So complicated!
Having just started reading Silences (which is amazing so far), I could see how reading it (and a million other things) might make you think twice. I haven't gotten too far in it, so maybe she touches on this, but in the end, looking over your life, this life, our life--is art the only goal? Maybe for some it is. As I get older though, I start to think that maybe it's okay for that part-time art to exist. Our lives aren't only about one thing, our lives are multidimensional, and sometimes those other dimensions can be better than art.
Agree. My parents thought art was the only goal, and for a while I bought into that concept, too. It made me miserable.
When I spend time doing other things in my life, it takes the pressure off my desire to make something great and thus softening the disappointment in maybe not reaching my goals. Maybe that's a little of the "low expectations" camp, but it's how I work!
High goals and low expectations might be the ticket to staying alive in each moment.
I like how you put that!
I think we’re psychic twins.
: )
“Maybe the decision is not entirely ours to make?” Wow. Yes and no, maybe. I want to think we decided to be here in the first place. But is that true? And does it matter? What is the web of being that sustains us, anyway? Can we exist outside it?
Who knows? I just know that nothing ever works the way you think it's going to or the way you want it to. You can't get attached, and you have to have a sense of play. I think that's a good rule of revision, too, actually...
Yes. With living, writing or dancing, being able to go with the flow and adjust to the sudden change in rhythm, key, or chording is critical. Ah, but practicing non-attachment (and practicing, and practicing) is so important!! And a sense of playfulness. Being willing to stay in the game. Thanks, Julia.
I became a parent just a few weeks ago. Sharing some of the fears posed in this question, I treated the due date as a deadline to finish my novel. Ha! Didn't happen. I got blocked for the last four months of the pregnancy. All the time I was telling myself, "You won't get this freedom back, you're wasting an opportunity..." and that self-applied pressure did not help one bit.
But you know what happened? My life changed overnight. You can read books about parenting, take courses on it, ask people questions... but nothing can truly prepare you for it. And just as George said so eloquently, there's a new layer to everything in your worldview. Life feels different. I think that unlocked (and unblocked) something in me.
Despite the broken sleep and overwhelming sense of responsibility, I'm back writing again, the ideas are flowing, and I'm lovin' it.
Where there's a will, there's a way.
That’s beautiful! Thank you!!
My wife is an artist. She has had a good career, nothing earth-shattering (she's not famous), but she has had 40 one-person shows in New York City and in Maine, and is well-respected by her peers. Neither one of us ever thought we would have kids, but we got together in our thirties and had children fairly late. She managed to be a great mother and keep her serious work going, and our three children lived with her commitment to her work and never suffered for it. They watched her work hard and be with them totally when she was not in the studio and a wonderful example was set for them, and for me. They suffered my absences more; supporting a family in the city required a lot from me. My wife's experience demonstrates that it is possible to do this, to have a creative life and a family life, all at the same time, if one feels compelled to do both. I think that's the key, to feel compelled by something deep and fundamental inside oneself. Luck plays a role too, of course.
Lady Luck. And Chance and Fate. I’m still wondering how much luck is made, rather than merely inflicted.
What a gracious answer. I feel that there is so much more to write about once I set about living, rather than simply training and setting up to write.
I made that mistake, trying to write after much reading and hardly any living. But the pool, or ocean, waited in the shadows, beckoning…
I have no business really, commenting here --- I don’t have children “of my own” --- Godchildren and stepchildren who came to me past the time when their survival depended on my devotion. I spent 3 years in my 20’s as a governess for a small child, but I was not her mother. I’m in my 60’s now and my observations could be blurry, but…
Over and over again, in my 30’s and early 40’s, my close male friends would express some version of the following at the birth of their first child, “yesterday I understood 1%, today 90%” or “we think we bring a child into the world but it’s really the other way around, a child brings us into the world.” (Galway Kinnell crafted an entire collection of poems (“The Book of Nightmares” ) inspired by the birth of his first child.) But I don’t know a single mother who expressed this thought --- that having children fostered a kind of induction.
I do know a woman who finishing her PhD research at John’s Hopkins listened to the voice recordings of black boxes retrieved from flights that had crashed and who do you imagine in this dark moment the pilots were calling for? One after the next.
By now I have witnessed many different styles of mothering and at close range, but always with my nose pressed to glass separating me from the viscera of that experience. I know mothers who judge me for not having made the “great sacrifice.” I know mothers who rely on my home as refuge. I know mothers who leave their children in my care as temporary relief. I know mothers who have given up a writing life so as not to aggravate a sense of being divided. I do not know any mothers who have a working life who do not feel divided.
For years I hosted an annual brunch for my women friends – ranging in age from 24 to 70. We’d gather at a long table and every year by the end of the brunch the mothers were all at one end, a law of gravity. All of them, every single one, bemoaning NOT the lack of time or lack of freedom, but a divided self. I’ve come to think that mothering does this, divides the self, in a way that fathering does not --- as if inside every mother’s body is a tiny amplifier, with a lifetime warranty, set to the frequency of the child’s need.
There may be mothers out there, for whom this is not your experience – I would be pleased to know.
In the meanwhile, every summer I devote myself to a writer --- reading a few books by the same author. For the last few years, I’ve privileged women who have written books with children underfoot. My modest way of honoring the willingness to endure this divide.
You wrote: "But I don’t know a single mother who expressed this thought --- that having children fostered a kind of induction."
This is my experience: I was absolutely gob-smacked by the weight of what had just occurred when I gave birth to my first child, by the sudden realization that a massive responsibility was now mine--forever. I was one person before my first child was born, and another person altogether the moment my baby emerged. Night and day. I can't begin to describe to you the intensity of that realization which I had known intellectually, but suddenly felt viscerally in every cell of my being.
Responding to your idea about a mother's divided self would take me far too long! Suffice it to say that all parents feel divided. There is the life a person leads outside the home, and then there is the parenting. Many fathers have that tiny amplifier you mention. It's just that traditionally, the role of parenting has fallen mostly on women.
and yes, of course, you have business commenting here! Happy to read your words, your take on things.
It’s very interesting to try, somewhat late in life, to try to split that role, especially since I am a baby boomer, my wife is a Millennial, and our child is Gen-A. We’re all approximately 30 years apart from one another. Needless to say a ton of communication and negotiation is required to get through each day. Sometimes painful, but always eye-opening.
David! So much fodder for your writing!
Hope so!
I love this perspective. Thank you.
Thought-provoking, thank you. I wonder how it goes when one’s self was divided before be coming a parent?
George said it so well. I would add the following:
I echo your sentiments about needing time to do deep thinking and close the door and write. I have always known on some level that I am an introvert however this has crystalized recently as I have been reading "Quiet: The power of introverts in a world which cannot stop talking." I wonder whether you identify as an introvert and if not it is something perhaps to consider going forward.
Wonderful, answer. Thank you.
There are many unhappy dysfunctional people who are “successful” writers despite being parents.
There are many happy lovely humans who are “great” artists/writers/musicians despite being loving, attentive parents who seldom have time.
There are many unproductive grumpy “writers” who are not parents.
There are many productive “happy” writers who are not parents.
Quotes = definition may vary for each person.