I don’t believe in god, but if I did I’d thank Her for you.

Since announcing my intention to participate in NaNoWriMo this year, I’ve received nothing but encouragement from friends and family.¹ That’s tops on my list of things to be grateful for this Thanks Giving Month.

There is this really great book on writing which I won’t name right now because, well, I’m going to make a big stink about the tiny part of it that sucks ass.

This book is written by one of my all-time favorite writers and 99% of it is absolutely wonderful. The advice on writing is generous and true, interspersed with personal narrative that is funny and insightful and instructive all at the same time. Unlike a lot of its competitors, the book is both an effective instruction manual and a good read.

But. Everyone’s got a big but.

There is one paragraph early on in this book that when I read it made me want to throw it through a window. (It’s in the introduction, in fact, which is a shame because it’s hard to read the great stuff that comes later if the book is lying on the street in a pile of glass.) Anyway, in said paragraph, the author says:

If you want to be published, give that up now. It is very likely that your stuff sucks and no one will want to read it, let alone publish it. Still, you should write anyway because writing, like all painful activities, builds character.”

I’m paraphrasing but not exaggerating.

Well. Maybe as a kid I had a few too many well-meaning people tell me to give up my artistic dreams and go out and get a nice, reliable accounting degree. Perhaps I harbor a teensy bit of resentment about that. But I honestly think that that piss-poor piece of advice would have inspired violence in me anyway, if not for myself, then on behalf of the legions of vulnerable young writers everywhere.

Let’s just call it right out: most writers want to be published. I’ve never, ever met a writer who didn’t, and I’ve met a lot, both professional and amateur. To deny it brings nothing but a holier-than-thou attitude and a chip the size of the entire Harry Potter series on the shoulder.

Many writers want fame and fortune, too. Some of of us dream of being as rich as Stephen King, as revered as John Steinbeck, and as Hollywood as Jane Austen. While the literati may turn up their noses at such aspirations, I doubt they’d be too upset if Scorcese offered them a fortune for the rights to turn their four-stanza masterpiece into a miniseries.

But when it comes right down to it, most of us writers want what everyone wants: to make a living doing something we love. And as citizens of Planet Wage-Slave, we are already aware this is a tough gig to get.

Trust me, we don’t need to be protected from the “harsh realities” of life. If we made it through puberty alive, we already know you can’t always get what you want.

Some may believe goofy, romantic stuff like being a writer makes you sexy or that getting published will make all your problems go away. But dieters believe these things, too, and nobody tries to tell them that being fat builds character.

So all well-meaning wing-clippers, hear me now: telling someone they are probably never going to “make it” as a writer (or painter, or musician, or actor) does not help them. It does nothing but nurture their natural bud of insecurity into a full-grown venus flytrap that will slowly and painfully devour them alive.²

This month, I am grateful to the NaNoWriMo creators for embracing the desire to write one’s heart out, crap or no, and for the internet for enabling others to join them once a year in a joyful global crapfest.

I’m thankful for my own stubborn still small voice that keeps whispering to thine ownself be true.

Most of all, I’m thankful for all the friends and family who have been so positive about my 50K In 30 Days. It’s still slow and a little bit painful, but I’m growing mine ownself a new pair of wings.

1. Those who gave me discouragement are no longer my friends or family. [↩]
2. Feed me, Seymour! [↩]

Filed under Gratitude |