Sweat
Equity
“Very
few writers really know what they are doing until they’ve done it.”
Anne
Lamott (Bird by Bird, p.21, Anchor Books, 1994)
I’m in
a weekly writing class on Zoom. My teacher is Ethel Smith, retired from the University
of West Virginia, and there are five students. We are in various stages of
labor with our writing—some just beginning, some working on second or third
drafts, and then there’s me, who is working on sixth or seventh drafts. As Anne
Lamott says, people think experienced writers sit down at the computer and
words simply flow out of them and onto the page effortlessly. Nothing could be
further from the truth. If you have a Hollywood notion of a writer’s life,
please disabuse yourself of it this minute. Writing is hard, frustrating,
painstaking, nitpicking work. And just like riding a horse, or fencing, or
knitting, or plumbing, it takes practice. Fortunately, if you put in the work
you usually get better—but not always.
I
remember when one of my sons took stagecraft in college. Their assignment was
to design sets for several plays detailed enough to be followed by the set
builders. He was terrible at it—truly terrible. His drawings were lines on
paper, his actors, stick figures. There was no sense of proportion or scale. I
felt sorry for him. His instructor took pity on him; he was an excellent actor,
but a pitiful artist. Regardless of how wonderful our imaginations may be, no
one is good at everything and to expect ourselves to be is irrational.
One
thing that is death to creativity of any kind is overthinking it. We have an
idea of how it—whatever IT is—should be, how it should look, smell, feel, and
so on. We try first to make it conform to our image or idea. If that doesn’t
work, we try to force it. The result is that the piece is stiff, unimaginative
and, well, boring. But too many people stop at this point. They say, I’m just
not good at this, so forget it, and they walk away. That, too, is a mistake.
That’s where second and third and forth drafts come in. That’s when you ask for
help with the things that are hard for you.
Don’t
worry if you don’t know in the beginning where a creative project is going. That’s
the nature of creativity—it’s like quicksilver. You can’t cage it. It will show
you the way. As Elizabeth Gilbert states in Big Magic, inspirational ideas are disembodied
spirits looking for people who will work with them. If you sign on to an idea,
give it permission to lead. Ask your characters what they want to say, what
they look like, what personality quirks they have. They will tell you. Then
take one step in their direction. The next step will be revealed to you—take that
one, too. And keep going, as Anne Lamott says, “Bird by Bird.”
As with
anything in life, nothing happens if we don’t try. People will not line up at
your door begging to publish your memoir or call to interview you for Time
magazine just because you are a wonderful human being. You will have to do the
work, fill in the blanks, and then do it again. It’s hard labor, no matter what
you do. But isn’t that what life is all about? Isn’t the investment in the
sweat and toil and love what makes life meaningful? And without meaning, what’s
the point?
I hope
you put in the sweat equity today. Life is your oyster if you’re prepared to
pry it open. Go get ‘em.
In
the Spirit,
Jane
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