Well, that sort of hit the nail right on the head for me. I guess you could say I'm that writer, but at the tail end of it all. I'm the result of what happens when you give up on yourself, and as a result, your dreams. I'm 64 at this moment. I plan to retire in January after working for 45 years at the same job. (It's a sawmill out here in the Vancouver {Canada} area.) I started writing a long time ago. I had dreams and aspirations of being another Oliver Goldsmith. A book, a play, a poem. I wrote the poem. It was a narrative ballad of Robin Hood that ended up being 212 pages when I self published it in 1977. I started writing the book when I was 28 (pre computer/internet days) I wrote three different versions of it. It was 325,000 words. Too long, I know. The play, well, I started that last year. I decided to make it iambic pentameter, just for the challenge.
And what happened?
Well, I started working at the mill. I got distracted with sex, drugs and rock and roll. I slipped into the vortex--fell into the rabbit hole so to speak. I got married, had kids, bought a house and went through six or seven strikes...bottom line: Life. Sometimes it gets in the way of our dreams.
I never gave up on my writing, though. I managed, once the computer age caught up to me, to try again. I was able to publish some stories on line, but was never able to break the paywall, so to say. And I have some pretty good stories. Problem with that? Too long...again. But I like long stories. (Alice Munro is my goddess.) I guess what I'm trying to say, is that sometimes it takes some of us a little longer to get our shit together. I've got mine together...finally. I started a SUBSTACK, because it was something I could do on my terms. I can put my stories up and if people want to read them, they can. I don't have a lot of followers, but I don't let that bother me, either. They will come if the writing is good enough to draw them in. I think it is. And that's all that matters.
The subject of the letter will eventually get his shit together, as well. When you want to write, it doesn't matter who you write for; it doesn't matter if you're the only one reading them. I realized, after all those years, that I never tried hard enough because I didn't believe in myself enough.
Ben, I can relate to your story, and I'm older than you are. I've finally realized that I write for the enjoyment of it; all of the journals that have been filled over the years were a result of my love for recording what's happening. I have published some nonfiction and some poetry, but publishing hasn't been the thing I push for, and I'm happy with that. Who you are in the world is the real test of having your shit together.
I'm another one with boxes of journals. I treasure them but they are also like Marley's heavy chain of "cash-boxes, keys, padlocks, ledgers, deeds, and heavy purses wrought in steel". I lug them in boxes to a suburban friend's house during fire season. And yet - what is the good of them? Will anybody read them - me or anyone else? Should I burn them and feel free? I reread bits sometimes - and there are good ideas - interesting language, feelings. But - but I don't develop them or when I do, they end up spiraling beyond recall or else land on the page dead as a coffin nail. When I read "The Mom of Bold Action" in _Liberation Day_ I cringe with the fear that, as a writer, I am that Mom. I tell myself I want to write something that someone else will read and - be that little bit changed. Be delighted or look out their window and have thoughts or feelings, as I do when reading something wonderful. Then I think - oh I'm too timid to try and make a difference. I can't change someone - I wouldn't dare. But that's not quite right - actually I have an ego that's relentlessly either swelling or shrinking, like Alice nibbling and sipping. Swelling or shrinking - it's all ego. But in journaling - I'm free of all that. I just write. And. Maybe that's what writing is for me - it's just for me. My delicious morning pleasure. All this other stuff, these desires to write and be read - they're just empty - fantasies of being admired and validated. I gotta clear that gunk out of the engine and maybe then I'll see what it is for. Hm. Or maybe I just need to step away from the keyboard and let this lovely fresh wind blowing outside right now take me for a walk and blow these thoughts away. I admire your clarity, Susan, and your feeling of being comfortable in the world - You do seem like someone who has her shit together! Thanks for your thoughts. They shifted me a little. Made me look out the window.
Susan & Jackie!!! I'm a journalaholic, too. I still have my first journal written in an "animal pads" cat pad with a fat orange tabby surrounded by his missing stripes on the cover. Begun in 1973, the year before my dad's suicide, those journals saved my life. I wrote to the only person paying attention to me. Literally. All the journaling connected me to language/words which eventually brought me here. My journals now are kept on the computer. Likely, I'll delete them. Funny enough I'd started a new one (the last was 500K ) and...well here is the entry (thanks for indulging but it's funny).
“When you are deciding what to leave out, begin with the author. If you see yourself prancing around between subject and reader, get lost. Give elbow room to the creative reader. In other words, to the extent that this is all about you, leave that out.” John McPhee essay.
Well, reading McPhee somehow my whole journal got deleted😂 which is appropriate to the cutting technique. Only 32K of blather from January. The McPhee quote hit me on the broadside of my ego, who’s always writing about herself.
Lucinda, I love your light touch about it all. I appreciate finding someone who also reads John McPhee. He's been one of my favorites throughout many, many years. Thanks for joining and sharing in our little journal-fest.
GS turned me onto McPhee right here. I read all the essays at TNY & then bought "Draft No. 4." Loved it, too. One of the pieces on structuring went waaaaaay over my head, which means I should reread it. What a genius. I have a sense of humor & it saves me time & time again. I also got over myself by writing the memoir. Egads. 🦩
Oh man!!! If In doubt: McPhee! I feel your broadside! Thanks be for McPhee. Thanks for the quote snd the irony. So sorry for your dad and you and your family. Likewise my journal has seen me through deaths, including my brother’s suicide. And… It is also a playground and a wilderness. I guess I will not be giving up the habit. I really enjoyed your post/comment.
My deepest empathy on the loss of your brother. I appreciate your sharing it with me & am so glad you too have words at your side💓 Love playground/wilderness - it certainly is. I read some of Lydia Davis published diary excerpts. Brilliant but I also suspect edited waaaaaaaay down to the smarts. Being able to be messy in a journal is one of its great gifts.
Jackie, what a kind thing to say! Thank you, so much. The journals of the past seven years are in a pile next to my desk. Browsing through them confirms that I have changed, and while in many ways they document that process, the story of the process is no longer relevant to where I am now. It's just one story in the endless vista of possibilities. So...after several months of cogitation, and maybe one more afternoon of browsing--after all, there are many little sticky arrows in those books, marking the times I wrote something especially meanful--they are going into the trash. I will continue to recreate myself, and to journal about it, because it keeps me grounded. I trust that I can write that process for characters. There may be numerous revisions, but one of George's worthwhile lessons, which he repeats in numerous ways, is to stay with that revison process until it feels right. I see that you recognize this in yourself, so I encourage you to stay with it. It has many twists, turns, and surprises, but I'm clear that you can do it. Enjoy living, looking, writing, and revising.
Yes, me too, a journal writer for decades. And I'm deeply loving this thread of people with decades behind them still in the game. Me too. I'm not what I thought would happen, because life. But I'm here. Or rather, it's still with me. And George's comment that the 'writing' energy channels, it's like a braided river, like the big braided rivers in the Yukon. Reading and writing.
And yes McPhee, discovering his Basin and Range series, falling in love with his stories, his writing.
Thank you for this George, this story club, and these people who respond.
I feel all you write here. I have never seen big braided rivers in the Yukon but I can viualize them maybe -- I love the braided river idea. I was thinking today that as a divergent type of thinker - I'm more like a delta - spreading out towards the ocean, than I river that takes (con)tributaries into itself, convergent, swelling. Divergent is good at early stages of story development but - not at the end - so this image hasd limitations! But braided that's a whole other kind of river and - rivers change and adapt. The create islands within their loops. So much rich river of writing imagery flowing in this - stream of comments.
Then I think you'd like this episode on to The Best of Our Knowledge. It features Dick Proenneke and Monroe Robinson - and if you don't know about then - as I didn't before the episode - I think you might like to... https://www.ttbook.org/interview/craftsman-alone-alaskan-wilderness. You can get the episode where you get your podcasts too, as they say.
Would I dare go roller coaster riding with you two 'Wildsters'; I'm wondering, as imagine you two sauntering off, thoroughly shaken but not consequentially stirred, leaving me, still strapped, in the middle seat speechless with the ride's terriffications; aye, if Iam ever doubted it could be so, I am that wee timorous beastie that Robbie Burns wrote of 😲
It's wonderful you started a Substack of your own to promote your writing. And I empathize about the longer stories. My longer stories have never been published & I see little likelyhood of it. Too much competition & I suspect they may be too esoteric but damn I loved writing them. Now, my short short fiction has found homes, which is hopeful. I love that your RH book was too long. First draft of my unpublished memoir was 168K (and a morass of expurgation😎) I will check out your Substack. That's really inspiring.
I hope I don't disappoint. As for RH, I was thinking I'd like to get it illustrated, clean it up a bit, and market it as a coffee table book. I mean, never say never, right?
Wow, you're prolific. I read "At Night We Paint the Stars" that said it was a short story but is serialized. Terrific voice. I kept thinking of Gunter Grass's Tin Drum, but Agnes is a woman. I enjoyed it. Love the idea of RH being a coffee table book. Market it to Charles III maybe since they've helped themselves to millions of their peoples funds, yes?
The irony of that is the fact I have a letter on my wall his Mom sent me in 1974 when I sent her a poem (now since lost) that my sister hand wrote for me because she had beautiful penmanship.
No disappointments! I subscribed to your Substack. Read one entry, then started on one of the early stories that begins, “Paris, 1956.” I have this lack of free time problem, so I only got a few pages in, but I will get back to it, because I love the voice! Not to mention the early 20th century European art-world milieu! Can’t wait to read more!! (Trapped a bit by small child and too many hours at a job; but this too will pass.)
Hey Ben, just subscribed you your substack. Now you are inspiring me to write and add to mine. I posted older materi on it awhile ago. One person stumbled upon it and liked it way, way back when. I so appreciated and whole heartedly agree with George's post - and yours. Looking forward to checking your RH out. Cheers
I think we can all relate. I was just discussing something with a friend yesterday that the letter writer and his friend reminded me of: the value of having people around you with common interests. For me, that's one of the main things I get out of Story Club. Thanks for being here, friends.
I love this notion that we are exactly who we are and that our energy will radiate in some way regardless of whether we are writing or not. What a calming way to think of what we are doing here, on this earth. i barely write anymore, though others kindly encourage me. George's words help me relax into the knowledge that what i may want to say through my writing is being said through my daily actions. We are all verbs, all of the time.
One little thing that may or not be of interest to the friend: I wrote an entire book by only writing on Fridays. It was the only day i had, being a mother, wife, community member, and public school employee. i had my 'office,' which was a certain chair in the local library, and that's where i wrote each Friday until finally i had a book. So, it can be done. (On the other days of the week, i daydreamed about my eventual book, and everything I saw or heard or read became fodder for my Friday sessions. So i was never really away from the writing. Just away from my keyboard.)
Lastly, encouragement to write from others does me no good. Either i want to write or i don't. So while appreciate the faith that friends and family have in me to produce something again, their words go right out the window and I'm always happy to change the subject. One day, i will write again, when I'm ready. (i did write one short story this past year and I'm inordinately proud of it, though i haven't sent it out yet.)
George, i'm so happy that you are home.
(ps the left-side shift key stopped working on my keyboard, so there are capitals missing here, now and into the future until this computer drops dead.)
“We are all verbs all the time.” And the book you wrote by only writing on Fridays. Why do so many of us believe that writing means bum in seat every day?
It is the left shift key on my damn Apple lap top. It happened right when I bought it, it's fairly new. I should've taken it in, but the Apple Store is always a mood killer. I love my magic keyboard. Gotta charge it every now and then, but it's light weight, easy, works with bluetooth.
When my daughter was a teenager I took her to the Art Students League in the city. She has a language processing disorder & ADD but she discovered her language with pens and paper and paint. She took a print making class something she’d never done before. I’d go in with her & wait in the hall as she worked. We got to know one of the professors there, a painter who recently passed. My d wanted to go to art school for college so I asked this man his advice. He said, “If you can talk her out of it, do it. If you can’t then you must support her all the way.”
I’ve never forgot his sage wisdom that I followed despite knowing how terribly difficult a life in art is. How do you pay the bills? Not everyone is a Cindy Sherman or a Hockney.
I love what GS says in this post – that not everyone has to be a writer. I’d add or a painter, sculptor, actor. I think you do have to be compelled. Compelled by something inside that pushes to get out.
For myself, I know what GS says if you step away then the creativity will find its way into something else. I almost stopped writing this year but I didn’t stop my improv group. In fact, I added another one run by an improvisor who’s a reader & loves language. He talks about our word inventory in scenes & through his deep attention to the words we choose and speak to one another in scenes it reignited my desire for words. That and Story Club. I purposely subscribed because I felt myself falling away from the lovely “flow” of writing so I said to myself, “Well, hang around GS & the writers and readers in his club.”
Have I written anything new? No. I went back to stories I wasn’t happy with and edited them. I have four I’m playing with now. One I finalized & sent it out. I got my first acceptance of 2022! The title of it is “Stand in Line.” It’s something one of my mentors said to me/us about writing/submitting: “Stand in line long enough, and you’ll be served.”
It's true but it’s also true that stepping away, doing something completely different, getting the fix somewhere else sharpens & readies us for the return, which is oddly what GS writes about today. I guess it’s always that way. Recharging ourselves for the new undertaking.
Thanks for the post and to the questioner about his friend (It really is great advice to have him give his friend the letter; they’re blessed to have each other).
George, I so appreciate that you don't reiterate the well-worn "to be a writer you must write every day" advice that so can so easily make an aspiring writer feel "less than," when in fact, they already are -- not aspiring, but, a writer.
I do think -- assuming life is fodder -- it's important to live a little, too.
Taking a moment here to absorb the beauty of this post. Thanks to both the person who posted that plea on behalf of a friend and to you George for your humanity.
"'Well, nothing lasts forever, including obstructions. I guess this obstruction is going to be a part of my, uh, journey--part of what I hope will someday be a happy, even triumphal, story of a victory of sorts (and this is true even if that victory includes deciding not to be a writer.)"
Quitting as a form of victory. What a beautiful sacrilege. It makes me think of the Christian idea of grace, of already being forgiven and loved no matter what: on the surface, it can feel like a cop-out, but the deeper truth of it is profoundly liberating. If you know you are already forgiven, already loved, it somehow becomes easier to free yourself from the endless cycle of shame and doubt that underlies so much suffering and harm (the story "Tenth of December" comes to mind here). Experiencing a moment of grace can help you extricate yourself from the intolerable inner world of self-imposed pressure and anxiety and expectation and begin orienting yourself towards the outside world, towards others and their needs. I've never thought before that quitting might, in certain cases, do the same thing.
For so long, quitting has been such a taboo word to me, such an unthinkable concept. I've always thought that if I quit writing like I've quit so many others things in life, then I'm lazy, a failure, useless. In our culture, "quitter" is far worse than "sinner"; the lowest circle of contemporary Hell is the Circle of Quitters, and I have always been so terrified of finding myself down there. Tonight, though, I was out for a walk, and I suddenly asked myself "What if I quit writing?" And for the first time in my life, I felt not dread but giddiness. "What if I quit writing?"
And now I feel more free to write than ever before.
So well said, Jack. i prefer to think of it not so much as quitting, but of letting go of something and moving on toward something else. A continuous journey.
The writer, the writer's writer friend, and Mr. Saunders have together created an epistolary therapy that should, I think, help and encourage many Story Clubbers. Today's office hours is salve for what ought not to be a wound, but for some may be, or will be: the difficulty of delivering to a desired audience. This hits home: "...to write for oneself is a deep and rewarding thing to do, and publishing and so on can be intelligently regarded as a sort of "nice if it happens, but not essential" kind of thing.)"
And more comfort: "...something of value to offer the world....will tangibly alter some lives for the better. I like to think of writing that way because it takes the selfishness and desperation out of it. "Can I help?" feels more workable than 'Can I win?'" In my own case, I have friends and family who like my stuff. Enjoyment is helpful.
My late brother-in-law had a toast, raised at family gatherings. I'll raise it here for all of your readers, Mr. Saunders, and all of us in Story Club: "We are so lucky!"
"Even if you're not actively writing because you are too busy, you are still a writer, because of the way you regard the world - with curiosity and interest and some sort of love."
The way the writer in you regards the world, perhaps, the person George mentions in 'A Swim in the Pond...' as being the better version of ourselves. I try to spend a lot of each day with this person, even when I'm not writing. I imagine the same is true of all who try to express, in whatever medium, something of life beyond the mundane, repetitive and utilitarian.
Dear George. I've read a lot of your work, read many interviews, been a subscriber to this newsletter from this start and even met you briefly in person at a book signing in Sydney, Australia ie fanboy. I feel like I have a pretty good grasp on your public persona and at least a sort of insight into your personal persona. My conclusion is you're a nice guy. You also talk of empathy, compassion and kindness as being essential to being a good writer. Now, sadly, I don't feel I have these things. I don't think I'm mean and horrible, but being on this side of my brain I know that the charity and bonhomie doesn't run as deep as I'd like it to. Do you think this means I am doomed as a writer? Do we need to be kind and compassionate to be good artists? What if your take on the world is cynical and perpetually disappointed? I don't mean to misrepresent you as some kind of Pollyanna, but I feel "niceness" for want of a better word is central to your artistic and personal philosophy. By the way, I'm not against being nice to people. It's a way I'd prefer to live. But I just feel I'm coming up short and maybe it will prevent me from making good work.
Steve - I do not think a person has be nice etc to be a writer. Not at all. Maybe a person just has to walk right into whatever/whoever he is. But we’re all…many people. Also, I try to be nice, kind, etc but it’s honestly more easy to be those things, or appear to be, when one is “outward facing” - that is, on stage or writing or Substacking or responding to letters etc. There’s a chance there to decide to construct an attitude - to me, it’s a form of “fake it until you make it.” I don’t mean being false but, rather, being aspirational: “this is how I’m trying to feel/see it.” I just prefer that, in public - I think I let in a wider range of feelings in my fiction. It’s all in there but which do want to choose, or honor, in a given setting, maybe?
Steve! I love everything you've written here and all of your questions. i know you wrote George and not me, so I won't give a long reply, but honestly, I think anyone who admits to feeling that they are coming up short in the compassion/kindness department, and who feels "perpetually disappointed" in the world, is exactly the kind of person whose writing this world needs.
I'm glad this conversation took off - didn't want to butt in. There were many many great artists who were horrible people or people who did horrible things. Or great whatever, baseball players, who were louses. George shows us that doesn't have to be the case. I know there are oodles of others, like Gary Shandling. It's fairly easy to tell when the gestures of empathy and compassion are empty. The reason I hang around here (primarily - secondarily is the writing lessons) is that here at Story Club, I feel an earnest sincerity from everyone here that I've not ever experienced to this degree anywhere else in my life. It heals my heart.
I just want to swim in it all day long, like ... it's a pond, and it's raining!
you are not butting in! Comments always welcome in story club! (Garry Shandling was not a horrible person. He was depressed and anxious and very, very funny.)
I know so many artists, and my parents were artists...I think most people have a snarky side, a dark side, a cynical side, and the artists in my life are no different. Working on being kind and compassionate is a practice, like yoga or meditation. People suffer. We can ease suffering by working on being kind. It doesn't mean that we're always "nice" or whatever.
Interesting you should say that. Are you aware of Gary Shandling's story? It would seem that was a big part of his life, trying to be good. And not always succeeding.
One of the few live shows I saw in Los Angeles, my college pal was the lighting guy..."The Gary Shandling Show." Is there a documentary? People seemed to really love him. I don't know about trying to be good, but practicing kindness has become a focus, because the "harsh voice" was mostly reserved for myself.
that show was so brilliant--also the Larry Sanders show! Yes, Judd Apatow did a documentary called the zen diaries of garry shandling. It was once upon a time on hbo. you can probably find it online still.
In Pittsburghese/Serbo-Croat, that would be "yoi (rhymes with "oy") menna" followed by several near-concussive smites to the forehead. I can still hear my grandmother's voice!
Genet. Celine. Nabokov. Tolstoy. Capote. Larkin. Mailer. No one ever would claim that being a “nice guy” is essential to being a writer. GS’s humane and generous, compassionate angle to the world is a bonus to his wonderful writing.
Some of my favorite writers are either Canadian (Munro, of course, but also Mavis Gallant, Robertson Davies & others) or are Americans writing about it or from its perspective (Howard Norman). We get a re-broadcast of "As It Happens" on public radio here in DC every night which, aside from being yay! Canadian, often provides a very telling view of this country.
“Can I help?” as opposed to “Can I win?” What a beautiful and useful distinction. I see writers so absorbed by the business of winning vast numbers of readers that they overlook the potential impact of their words on one reader whose perspective will crack open because of what they have to say. The writer of this letter is a good friend, as George says, but also the best kind of reader any writer could have in the struggle against self-doubt. He cups the writer’s flame between his hands. I had a mentor once who used to tell me, “I can’t wait to read what you’ll say next.” She used to say it with a laugh that dispelled any pressure I might feel.
My mentor died many years ago. When I feel stuck, I listen for her voice. Hemingway spoke of the foundational “one true sentence,” and he was right. But there are times--many times--when a writer needs one true reader who radiates belief in what he or she will say next. I try to be this kind of friend for other writers whose flame is sputtering. Thank you, George, for this reminder of the power we have to support and motivate one another.
I believe you are also writing this to me, and a whole bunch of us. I like that idea about how being overly busy can work wonders on concentrating the mind, laser-like. If I can write for ten minutes in a day, it’s a good day!
All the best in warmth and light and time to the letter writer and friend!
I cried reading this. While I write professionally and daily, this friend is me when it comes to more creative writing that isn't attached to paying bills (at least at my nascent stage). The battle between giving up the hope of finishing a piece of fiction and acknowledging its call is strong within me. George's answer was helpful. The obstruction is, indeed, a part of my journey.
Man, I haven't even read George's answer yet, but hot damn, I could use a friend that believes in me that much.
Well, that sort of hit the nail right on the head for me. I guess you could say I'm that writer, but at the tail end of it all. I'm the result of what happens when you give up on yourself, and as a result, your dreams. I'm 64 at this moment. I plan to retire in January after working for 45 years at the same job. (It's a sawmill out here in the Vancouver {Canada} area.) I started writing a long time ago. I had dreams and aspirations of being another Oliver Goldsmith. A book, a play, a poem. I wrote the poem. It was a narrative ballad of Robin Hood that ended up being 212 pages when I self published it in 1977. I started writing the book when I was 28 (pre computer/internet days) I wrote three different versions of it. It was 325,000 words. Too long, I know. The play, well, I started that last year. I decided to make it iambic pentameter, just for the challenge.
And what happened?
Well, I started working at the mill. I got distracted with sex, drugs and rock and roll. I slipped into the vortex--fell into the rabbit hole so to speak. I got married, had kids, bought a house and went through six or seven strikes...bottom line: Life. Sometimes it gets in the way of our dreams.
I never gave up on my writing, though. I managed, once the computer age caught up to me, to try again. I was able to publish some stories on line, but was never able to break the paywall, so to say. And I have some pretty good stories. Problem with that? Too long...again. But I like long stories. (Alice Munro is my goddess.) I guess what I'm trying to say, is that sometimes it takes some of us a little longer to get our shit together. I've got mine together...finally. I started a SUBSTACK, because it was something I could do on my terms. I can put my stories up and if people want to read them, they can. I don't have a lot of followers, but I don't let that bother me, either. They will come if the writing is good enough to draw them in. I think it is. And that's all that matters.
The subject of the letter will eventually get his shit together, as well. When you want to write, it doesn't matter who you write for; it doesn't matter if you're the only one reading them. I realized, after all those years, that I never tried hard enough because I didn't believe in myself enough.
Sometimes, it's just as simple as that...
Ben, I can relate to your story, and I'm older than you are. I've finally realized that I write for the enjoyment of it; all of the journals that have been filled over the years were a result of my love for recording what's happening. I have published some nonfiction and some poetry, but publishing hasn't been the thing I push for, and I'm happy with that. Who you are in the world is the real test of having your shit together.
I'm another one with boxes of journals. I treasure them but they are also like Marley's heavy chain of "cash-boxes, keys, padlocks, ledgers, deeds, and heavy purses wrought in steel". I lug them in boxes to a suburban friend's house during fire season. And yet - what is the good of them? Will anybody read them - me or anyone else? Should I burn them and feel free? I reread bits sometimes - and there are good ideas - interesting language, feelings. But - but I don't develop them or when I do, they end up spiraling beyond recall or else land on the page dead as a coffin nail. When I read "The Mom of Bold Action" in _Liberation Day_ I cringe with the fear that, as a writer, I am that Mom. I tell myself I want to write something that someone else will read and - be that little bit changed. Be delighted or look out their window and have thoughts or feelings, as I do when reading something wonderful. Then I think - oh I'm too timid to try and make a difference. I can't change someone - I wouldn't dare. But that's not quite right - actually I have an ego that's relentlessly either swelling or shrinking, like Alice nibbling and sipping. Swelling or shrinking - it's all ego. But in journaling - I'm free of all that. I just write. And. Maybe that's what writing is for me - it's just for me. My delicious morning pleasure. All this other stuff, these desires to write and be read - they're just empty - fantasies of being admired and validated. I gotta clear that gunk out of the engine and maybe then I'll see what it is for. Hm. Or maybe I just need to step away from the keyboard and let this lovely fresh wind blowing outside right now take me for a walk and blow these thoughts away. I admire your clarity, Susan, and your feeling of being comfortable in the world - You do seem like someone who has her shit together! Thanks for your thoughts. They shifted me a little. Made me look out the window.
Susan & Jackie!!! I'm a journalaholic, too. I still have my first journal written in an "animal pads" cat pad with a fat orange tabby surrounded by his missing stripes on the cover. Begun in 1973, the year before my dad's suicide, those journals saved my life. I wrote to the only person paying attention to me. Literally. All the journaling connected me to language/words which eventually brought me here. My journals now are kept on the computer. Likely, I'll delete them. Funny enough I'd started a new one (the last was 500K ) and...well here is the entry (thanks for indulging but it's funny).
“When you are deciding what to leave out, begin with the author. If you see yourself prancing around between subject and reader, get lost. Give elbow room to the creative reader. In other words, to the extent that this is all about you, leave that out.” John McPhee essay.
Well, reading McPhee somehow my whole journal got deleted😂 which is appropriate to the cutting technique. Only 32K of blather from January. The McPhee quote hit me on the broadside of my ego, who’s always writing about herself.
So, I go on.
😳 🌹
Lucinda, I love your light touch about it all. I appreciate finding someone who also reads John McPhee. He's been one of my favorites throughout many, many years. Thanks for joining and sharing in our little journal-fest.
GS turned me onto McPhee right here. I read all the essays at TNY & then bought "Draft No. 4." Loved it, too. One of the pieces on structuring went waaaaaay over my head, which means I should reread it. What a genius. I have a sense of humor & it saves me time & time again. I also got over myself by writing the memoir. Egads. 🦩
Oh man!!! If In doubt: McPhee! I feel your broadside! Thanks be for McPhee. Thanks for the quote snd the irony. So sorry for your dad and you and your family. Likewise my journal has seen me through deaths, including my brother’s suicide. And… It is also a playground and a wilderness. I guess I will not be giving up the habit. I really enjoyed your post/comment.
My deepest empathy on the loss of your brother. I appreciate your sharing it with me & am so glad you too have words at your side💓 Love playground/wilderness - it certainly is. I read some of Lydia Davis published diary excerpts. Brilliant but I also suspect edited waaaaaaaay down to the smarts. Being able to be messy in a journal is one of its great gifts.
Jackie, what a kind thing to say! Thank you, so much. The journals of the past seven years are in a pile next to my desk. Browsing through them confirms that I have changed, and while in many ways they document that process, the story of the process is no longer relevant to where I am now. It's just one story in the endless vista of possibilities. So...after several months of cogitation, and maybe one more afternoon of browsing--after all, there are many little sticky arrows in those books, marking the times I wrote something especially meanful--they are going into the trash. I will continue to recreate myself, and to journal about it, because it keeps me grounded. I trust that I can write that process for characters. There may be numerous revisions, but one of George's worthwhile lessons, which he repeats in numerous ways, is to stay with that revison process until it feels right. I see that you recognize this in yourself, so I encourage you to stay with it. It has many twists, turns, and surprises, but I'm clear that you can do it. Enjoy living, looking, writing, and revising.
Your last sentence, Susan, says it all, and perfectly.
Amen to that.
Yes, me too, a journal writer for decades. And I'm deeply loving this thread of people with decades behind them still in the game. Me too. I'm not what I thought would happen, because life. But I'm here. Or rather, it's still with me. And George's comment that the 'writing' energy channels, it's like a braided river, like the big braided rivers in the Yukon. Reading and writing.
And yes McPhee, discovering his Basin and Range series, falling in love with his stories, his writing.
Thank you for this George, this story club, and these people who respond.
I feel all you write here. I have never seen big braided rivers in the Yukon but I can viualize them maybe -- I love the braided river idea. I was thinking today that as a divergent type of thinker - I'm more like a delta - spreading out towards the ocean, than I river that takes (con)tributaries into itself, convergent, swelling. Divergent is good at early stages of story development but - not at the end - so this image hasd limitations! But braided that's a whole other kind of river and - rivers change and adapt. The create islands within their loops. So much rich river of writing imagery flowing in this - stream of comments.
Love Alaska and The Yukon!
Then I think you'd like this episode on to The Best of Our Knowledge. It features Dick Proenneke and Monroe Robinson - and if you don't know about then - as I didn't before the episode - I think you might like to... https://www.ttbook.org/interview/craftsman-alone-alaskan-wilderness. You can get the episode where you get your podcasts too, as they say.
Thank you! I have loved To The Best Of Our Knowledge for some time, but haven’t been listening much in recent months!
At 65 I've now more time to read and write. Act three has just begun.
Have Fun!
I'm 70, which just doesn't sound real. Buckle up, I say, because the time is here and the place is now!
Aye Jackie, let the ride be wild!
Would I dare go roller coaster riding with you two 'Wildsters'; I'm wondering, as imagine you two sauntering off, thoroughly shaken but not consequentially stirred, leaving me, still strapped, in the middle seat speechless with the ride's terriffications; aye, if Iam ever doubted it could be so, I am that wee timorous beastie that Robbie Burns wrote of 😲
Oh I am that wee sleekit timorous beastie!
I'm at 67 Iam, when it's not hell (and it's really not) it's heaven.
Ditto the replies above. You have the gift, whether the rest of the world knows it or not. Believe it!
Ben, your journey sounds like a fantastic epic. Please keep at it. -Matt
It's wonderful you started a Substack of your own to promote your writing. And I empathize about the longer stories. My longer stories have never been published & I see little likelyhood of it. Too much competition & I suspect they may be too esoteric but damn I loved writing them. Now, my short short fiction has found homes, which is hopeful. I love that your RH book was too long. First draft of my unpublished memoir was 168K (and a morass of expurgation😎) I will check out your Substack. That's really inspiring.
I hope I don't disappoint. As for RH, I was thinking I'd like to get it illustrated, clean it up a bit, and market it as a coffee table book. I mean, never say never, right?
Wow, you're prolific. I read "At Night We Paint the Stars" that said it was a short story but is serialized. Terrific voice. I kept thinking of Gunter Grass's Tin Drum, but Agnes is a woman. I enjoyed it. Love the idea of RH being a coffee table book. Market it to Charles III maybe since they've helped themselves to millions of their peoples funds, yes?
The irony of that is the fact I have a letter on my wall his Mom sent me in 1974 when I sent her a poem (now since lost) that my sister hand wrote for me because she had beautiful penmanship.
Now, there's another story. How terrific. Write on. If you Goggle me, you'll find my work. I need a website. Maybe.
No disappointments! I subscribed to your Substack. Read one entry, then started on one of the early stories that begins, “Paris, 1956.” I have this lack of free time problem, so I only got a few pages in, but I will get back to it, because I love the voice! Not to mention the early 20th century European art-world milieu! Can’t wait to read more!! (Trapped a bit by small child and too many hours at a job; but this too will pass.)
Oh I hope you finish that one. It's told on two different timelines. (And The Bashful Courtesan is actually the name of the painting in the story.)
Such a great title, too! Thanks Ben, for the trips you have already taken me on. I will get back to you as soon as I can!
Hey Ben, just subscribed you your substack. Now you are inspiring me to write and add to mine. I posted older materi on it awhile ago. One person stumbled upon it and liked it way, way back when. I so appreciated and whole heartedly agree with George's post - and yours. Looking forward to checking your RH out. Cheers
You are together...now get on with the editing^^
Sounds like a fascinating life to me. Thanks for sharing, and good luck with your writing.
I think we can all relate. I was just discussing something with a friend yesterday that the letter writer and his friend reminded me of: the value of having people around you with common interests. For me, that's one of the main things I get out of Story Club. Thanks for being here, friends.
that's Koole^^
You're the first person to point that out!😉
^^
perfect reply to a beautiful letter.
I love this notion that we are exactly who we are and that our energy will radiate in some way regardless of whether we are writing or not. What a calming way to think of what we are doing here, on this earth. i barely write anymore, though others kindly encourage me. George's words help me relax into the knowledge that what i may want to say through my writing is being said through my daily actions. We are all verbs, all of the time.
One little thing that may or not be of interest to the friend: I wrote an entire book by only writing on Fridays. It was the only day i had, being a mother, wife, community member, and public school employee. i had my 'office,' which was a certain chair in the local library, and that's where i wrote each Friday until finally i had a book. So, it can be done. (On the other days of the week, i daydreamed about my eventual book, and everything I saw or heard or read became fodder for my Friday sessions. So i was never really away from the writing. Just away from my keyboard.)
Lastly, encouragement to write from others does me no good. Either i want to write or i don't. So while appreciate the faith that friends and family have in me to produce something again, their words go right out the window and I'm always happy to change the subject. One day, i will write again, when I'm ready. (i did write one short story this past year and I'm inordinately proud of it, though i haven't sent it out yet.)
George, i'm so happy that you are home.
(ps the left-side shift key stopped working on my keyboard, so there are capitals missing here, now and into the future until this computer drops dead.)
“We are all verbs all the time.” And the book you wrote by only writing on Fridays. Why do so many of us believe that writing means bum in seat every day?
What? There’s more than one way to fulfillment?
Mary, as usual, I love reading your posts. Also, I have a laptop with a wonky key board. So I bought a "magic keyboard" and it solved the problem.
If the other shift key decides to call it quits, maybe i'll try that. Thanks! (And l love your posts, too!)
It is the left shift key on my damn Apple lap top. It happened right when I bought it, it's fairly new. I should've taken it in, but the Apple Store is always a mood killer. I love my magic keyboard. Gotta charge it every now and then, but it's light weight, easy, works with bluetooth.
“We are verbs…” I love it!!
I am a noun^^
Yay for the one short story ❤️🐾❤️
Thanks, Lucinda!
On Quitting
When my daughter was a teenager I took her to the Art Students League in the city. She has a language processing disorder & ADD but she discovered her language with pens and paper and paint. She took a print making class something she’d never done before. I’d go in with her & wait in the hall as she worked. We got to know one of the professors there, a painter who recently passed. My d wanted to go to art school for college so I asked this man his advice. He said, “If you can talk her out of it, do it. If you can’t then you must support her all the way.”
I’ve never forgot his sage wisdom that I followed despite knowing how terribly difficult a life in art is. How do you pay the bills? Not everyone is a Cindy Sherman or a Hockney.
I love what GS says in this post – that not everyone has to be a writer. I’d add or a painter, sculptor, actor. I think you do have to be compelled. Compelled by something inside that pushes to get out.
For myself, I know what GS says if you step away then the creativity will find its way into something else. I almost stopped writing this year but I didn’t stop my improv group. In fact, I added another one run by an improvisor who’s a reader & loves language. He talks about our word inventory in scenes & through his deep attention to the words we choose and speak to one another in scenes it reignited my desire for words. That and Story Club. I purposely subscribed because I felt myself falling away from the lovely “flow” of writing so I said to myself, “Well, hang around GS & the writers and readers in his club.”
Have I written anything new? No. I went back to stories I wasn’t happy with and edited them. I have four I’m playing with now. One I finalized & sent it out. I got my first acceptance of 2022! The title of it is “Stand in Line.” It’s something one of my mentors said to me/us about writing/submitting: “Stand in line long enough, and you’ll be served.”
It's true but it’s also true that stepping away, doing something completely different, getting the fix somewhere else sharpens & readies us for the return, which is oddly what GS writes about today. I guess it’s always that way. Recharging ourselves for the new undertaking.
Thanks for the post and to the questioner about his friend (It really is great advice to have him give his friend the letter; they’re blessed to have each other).
What a perfect letter. What a perfect response.
George, I so appreciate that you don't reiterate the well-worn "to be a writer you must write every day" advice that so can so easily make an aspiring writer feel "less than," when in fact, they already are -- not aspiring, but, a writer.
I do think -- assuming life is fodder -- it's important to live a little, too.
Hell, yes! Live a lot!!
Taking a moment here to absorb the beauty of this post. Thanks to both the person who posted that plea on behalf of a friend and to you George for your humanity.
"'Well, nothing lasts forever, including obstructions. I guess this obstruction is going to be a part of my, uh, journey--part of what I hope will someday be a happy, even triumphal, story of a victory of sorts (and this is true even if that victory includes deciding not to be a writer.)"
Quitting as a form of victory. What a beautiful sacrilege. It makes me think of the Christian idea of grace, of already being forgiven and loved no matter what: on the surface, it can feel like a cop-out, but the deeper truth of it is profoundly liberating. If you know you are already forgiven, already loved, it somehow becomes easier to free yourself from the endless cycle of shame and doubt that underlies so much suffering and harm (the story "Tenth of December" comes to mind here). Experiencing a moment of grace can help you extricate yourself from the intolerable inner world of self-imposed pressure and anxiety and expectation and begin orienting yourself towards the outside world, towards others and their needs. I've never thought before that quitting might, in certain cases, do the same thing.
For so long, quitting has been such a taboo word to me, such an unthinkable concept. I've always thought that if I quit writing like I've quit so many others things in life, then I'm lazy, a failure, useless. In our culture, "quitter" is far worse than "sinner"; the lowest circle of contemporary Hell is the Circle of Quitters, and I have always been so terrified of finding myself down there. Tonight, though, I was out for a walk, and I suddenly asked myself "What if I quit writing?" And for the first time in my life, I felt not dread but giddiness. "What if I quit writing?"
And now I feel more free to write than ever before.
So well said, Jack. i prefer to think of it not so much as quitting, but of letting go of something and moving on toward something else. A continuous journey.
So wonderfully put, Jack. I came away from today's post with the same feeling of freedom!
Well said, Jack
The writer, the writer's writer friend, and Mr. Saunders have together created an epistolary therapy that should, I think, help and encourage many Story Clubbers. Today's office hours is salve for what ought not to be a wound, but for some may be, or will be: the difficulty of delivering to a desired audience. This hits home: "...to write for oneself is a deep and rewarding thing to do, and publishing and so on can be intelligently regarded as a sort of "nice if it happens, but not essential" kind of thing.)"
And more comfort: "...something of value to offer the world....will tangibly alter some lives for the better. I like to think of writing that way because it takes the selfishness and desperation out of it. "Can I help?" feels more workable than 'Can I win?'" In my own case, I have friends and family who like my stuff. Enjoyment is helpful.
My late brother-in-law had a toast, raised at family gatherings. I'll raise it here for all of your readers, Mr. Saunders, and all of us in Story Club: "We are so lucky!"
Every life can teach another life^^
"Even if you're not actively writing because you are too busy, you are still a writer, because of the way you regard the world - with curiosity and interest and some sort of love."
The way the writer in you regards the world, perhaps, the person George mentions in 'A Swim in the Pond...' as being the better version of ourselves. I try to spend a lot of each day with this person, even when I'm not writing. I imagine the same is true of all who try to express, in whatever medium, something of life beyond the mundane, repetitive and utilitarian.
Dear George. I've read a lot of your work, read many interviews, been a subscriber to this newsletter from this start and even met you briefly in person at a book signing in Sydney, Australia ie fanboy. I feel like I have a pretty good grasp on your public persona and at least a sort of insight into your personal persona. My conclusion is you're a nice guy. You also talk of empathy, compassion and kindness as being essential to being a good writer. Now, sadly, I don't feel I have these things. I don't think I'm mean and horrible, but being on this side of my brain I know that the charity and bonhomie doesn't run as deep as I'd like it to. Do you think this means I am doomed as a writer? Do we need to be kind and compassionate to be good artists? What if your take on the world is cynical and perpetually disappointed? I don't mean to misrepresent you as some kind of Pollyanna, but I feel "niceness" for want of a better word is central to your artistic and personal philosophy. By the way, I'm not against being nice to people. It's a way I'd prefer to live. But I just feel I'm coming up short and maybe it will prevent me from making good work.
Steve - I do not think a person has be nice etc to be a writer. Not at all. Maybe a person just has to walk right into whatever/whoever he is. But we’re all…many people. Also, I try to be nice, kind, etc but it’s honestly more easy to be those things, or appear to be, when one is “outward facing” - that is, on stage or writing or Substacking or responding to letters etc. There’s a chance there to decide to construct an attitude - to me, it’s a form of “fake it until you make it.” I don’t mean being false but, rather, being aspirational: “this is how I’m trying to feel/see it.” I just prefer that, in public - I think I let in a wider range of feelings in my fiction. It’s all in there but which do want to choose, or honor, in a given setting, maybe?
Thank you, George. I understand what you’re saying.
But I still think you’re nice.
😉
We are all a little more complicated then just nice. ^^
than
Steve! I love everything you've written here and all of your questions. i know you wrote George and not me, so I won't give a long reply, but honestly, I think anyone who admits to feeling that they are coming up short in the compassion/kindness department, and who feels "perpetually disappointed" in the world, is exactly the kind of person whose writing this world needs.
Thank you, Mary. I do however genuinely feel George has something special going on in the spirit department.
I'm glad this conversation took off - didn't want to butt in. There were many many great artists who were horrible people or people who did horrible things. Or great whatever, baseball players, who were louses. George shows us that doesn't have to be the case. I know there are oodles of others, like Gary Shandling. It's fairly easy to tell when the gestures of empathy and compassion are empty. The reason I hang around here (primarily - secondarily is the writing lessons) is that here at Story Club, I feel an earnest sincerity from everyone here that I've not ever experienced to this degree anywhere else in my life. It heals my heart.
I just want to swim in it all day long, like ... it's a pond, and it's raining!
you are not butting in! Comments always welcome in story club! (Garry Shandling was not a horrible person. He was depressed and anxious and very, very funny.)
Oh. I didn’t mean to imply that about Garry. I was thinking of Garry Shandling as on the George side of things.
Definitely not butting in. Contributing valuably.
Don't forget the rain..with your swim^^
I wouldn't ... it's at the end of my comment, except the rain has now decided to forsake us in the pacific northwest!
Absolutely.
I know so many artists, and my parents were artists...I think most people have a snarky side, a dark side, a cynical side, and the artists in my life are no different. Working on being kind and compassionate is a practice, like yoga or meditation. People suffer. We can ease suffering by working on being kind. It doesn't mean that we're always "nice" or whatever.
Interesting you should say that. Are you aware of Gary Shandling's story? It would seem that was a big part of his life, trying to be good. And not always succeeding.
love love love love love garry shandling.
Very different to George, but just as influential in his own field.
just adored by comedians. Did you see the documentary that Judd Apatow made on him? (I'm sure you did.)
Yes, I did. It was great. There is also a companion book. Probably worth getting from the library, not necessarily worth buying.
ahhhh I just asked about that. I thought there was a doc out there somewhere.
One of the few live shows I saw in Los Angeles, my college pal was the lighting guy..."The Gary Shandling Show." Is there a documentary? People seemed to really love him. I don't know about trying to be good, but practicing kindness has become a focus, because the "harsh voice" was mostly reserved for myself.
FIRST! be kind to yourself..the rest is a piece of cake^^
Yes, I've learned that, finally! Thanks, Graeme.
that show was so brilliant--also the Larry Sanders show! Yes, Judd Apatow did a documentary called the zen diaries of garry shandling. It was once upon a time on hbo. you can probably find it online still.
^..^ Center Circle at a mile and half away! Nice shot^^
And work it is, this kindness thing, some days.
Oy vey yes.
In Pittsburghese/Serbo-Croat, that would be "yoi (rhymes with "oy") menna" followed by several near-concussive smites to the forehead. I can still hear my grandmother's voice!
When I go to Pittsburgh I’m going to yell that out in random places and see who responds😂
Careful. You will be accosted by a marauding brigade of babushkas and force fed cabbage. Also, look out for the kielbasa. Killer.
Genet. Celine. Nabokov. Tolstoy. Capote. Larkin. Mailer. No one ever would claim that being a “nice guy” is essential to being a writer. GS’s humane and generous, compassionate angle to the world is a bonus to his wonderful writing.
It's not a writing thing....It is character^^
A bonus! Nice way of looking at it.
Steve, Anyone who writes as touchingly & as self-reflectively as you have here is, by definition, not doomed.
Wow. What a lovely thing to say. Best of luck with your writing too.
Steve, you sound like someone who interrogates himself--an admirable quality in a writer (or anyone).
Chatelaine. I'm not Canadian but I know it. Nice to have you here!
Wow. I didn’t think anyone outside Canada knew about Chatelaine. Good to be here!
Some of my favorite writers are either Canadian (Munro, of course, but also Mavis Gallant, Robertson Davies & others) or are Americans writing about it or from its perspective (Howard Norman). We get a re-broadcast of "As It Happens" on public radio here in DC every night which, aside from being yay! Canadian, often provides a very telling view of this country.
My favorite writers come from everywhere^^
Thanks, Rona. Such a lovely writing community, this one.
“Can I help?” as opposed to “Can I win?” What a beautiful and useful distinction. I see writers so absorbed by the business of winning vast numbers of readers that they overlook the potential impact of their words on one reader whose perspective will crack open because of what they have to say. The writer of this letter is a good friend, as George says, but also the best kind of reader any writer could have in the struggle against self-doubt. He cups the writer’s flame between his hands. I had a mentor once who used to tell me, “I can’t wait to read what you’ll say next.” She used to say it with a laugh that dispelled any pressure I might feel.
My mentor died many years ago. When I feel stuck, I listen for her voice. Hemingway spoke of the foundational “one true sentence,” and he was right. But there are times--many times--when a writer needs one true reader who radiates belief in what he or she will say next. I try to be this kind of friend for other writers whose flame is sputtering. Thank you, George, for this reminder of the power we have to support and motivate one another.
This is beautiful, Rona. You are lighting a candle of love and hope for others, as your friend did for you.
Agreed. If we could all cup one another’s flames this world would be a much better place.
I believe you are also writing this to me, and a whole bunch of us. I like that idea about how being overly busy can work wonders on concentrating the mind, laser-like. If I can write for ten minutes in a day, it’s a good day!
All the best in warmth and light and time to the letter writer and friend!
"I was just looking for some power, any power, in the world. But in the end, writing was all I wanted and was what I believed in the most. " Amen.
Seeing and hearing and touch all go along with it..No?^^
Love the dialogue with the SHED. For some reason I am thinking SHED is a she and she’s got attitude 🙂
She is and she does. 👍
She'd agree.
Don't shed a tear...he will be back there before very long^^
I cried reading this. While I write professionally and daily, this friend is me when it comes to more creative writing that isn't attached to paying bills (at least at my nascent stage). The battle between giving up the hope of finishing a piece of fiction and acknowledging its call is strong within me. George's answer was helpful. The obstruction is, indeed, a part of my journey.