It didn't work. Hmm. Well anyway... Sarah really blew me away the other day. Or, rather, J. Michael Straczynski did, in his book on Screenwriting, which I haven't read but might have to read after she quoted this bit:
"So this book is geared toward a certain kind of writer, the type best described by Mignon McLaughlin when she said, "Anyone can write. The trouble with writers is that they can't do anything else."
Which is not to say that writers are incapable of doing anything else, like changing tires or extracting troublesome molars. It's just that writing is the only thing they can do for an extended period of time without chewing on the furniture or checking in for therapy. It makes them happy. It fills a need, whether that need is a longing for self-expression or a quest for immortality through the written word.
Dilettantes, curiosity seekers and literary sightseers are encouraged to apply elsewhere. I am of the personal belief that there is something unique about writers that prepares them from birth and propels them throughout their lives toward this most remarkable of professions. Most of these writers are unstoppable. Throw as many obstacles in their way as you like, and still they persevere toward their goal, aften with nothing more than a vague idea of what that goal might be. Nothing, not even the most severe rejection, can impede the progress of such a writer."
Ack! This little "fault" of mine has been the basis for so many fights and arguments in the past three years...
"If you don't get published by such-and-such a date, then you're not going to try anymore."
"It doesn't work that way. If I get rejected, I try again. Forever."
"You can't chase a pipe dream forever."
"It's not a pipe dream. I'll succeed. Eventually, I will succeed. It might not be by the time I'm 30, but that's okay; that's just a general goal. But I will keep trying, and I will succeed. I doubt I'll be a millionaire or famous. That's not what I want..."
"That's stupid. I'm not going to let you do this for the rest of your life!"
"I'm not going to give up, Chris. If I give up... that's worse than not trying at all. If I give up, I'll never know if I could have succeeded. I have to write. It's like breathing. If I had a choice, I'd do nothing but write."
(As an aside, this is probably why I'm not a good gambler. Even though I made my $20 back, I kept wanting to put one more coin in, one more time, because if the guy behind me sat down at my slot machine and won three million dollars, I would have never forgiven myself.)
"I wanted to play hockey when I was twelve, but I don't play it anymore."
"Why not?"
"I wasn't good enough to play professional hockey."
"But you could have played it for fun!"
"You could write for fun."
"I do write for fun. If I didn't enjoy it, I damn well wouldn't do it. But writing is also my choice of career. This is what I want to do with my life. I've had some small successes..."
"Then where's the money?!?"
"It will come."
"Where's the money? You spend so much time in front of that damned computer... where's the money?!?"
"Chris, I'll have money. I get royalties. It isn't much yet, but it will grow. I have faith."
Snort. "Faith."
"Yeah. Faith."
I've said this before, and I'll say it again. I can't not write. Take away the words, and I'd be lost, adrift, a shadow person trying to pretend she was whole. I can't stop. I can't just quit. Even if the story is going badly and I want to throw my computer out the window; even if my characters are on strike and revolting until I think I'm going to go mad.
I don't think someone who doesn't have a passion like that can understand. Any job I get, no matter how well it pays, no matter how prestigious it is, will never hold a candle to writing.
Another exchange, last year when I was still looking for a new job:
"You'll be there three months and start complaining."
"Yeah, probably. It's not what I want to do. But that's okay; it's closer to home and it's a better job. I won't have to deal with the stinky politics anymore."
"I don't want to hear you complain about it."
Shrug. "I probably will."
"I can't believe they hired you with an attitude like that. You're just lazy."
"No. I'll do a good job. I'll do my job, but my job is not my life. My job is not my passion. Writing is my passion. In a lesser extent, dollmaking and photography are my passions. Not my day job."
"Uh-huh. Why don't you go to college so you can get a degree and do something you like to do?"
"I don't want to go to college. I see no point in it. And anyway, if I went to college, I wouldn't take writing classes; I'd take cool classes, like folklore and archaeology and stuff like that. Forensic Anthropology."
"Well, why don't you do it, then?"
"Because it isn't what I want to do with my life! Writing is what I want to do with my life."
"That's stupid."
Which was a moot point after my wonderful raise, and the fact that I kind of like this particular day job. It's not a career, and I'm not planning to do it forever, if things go well, but it's adequate. I don't hate it. And that says a lot in its favor, considering how much I disliked my other two jobs. (The desktop publishing job was actually fun. I loved doing the work, but there wasn't enough work to go around, and we twiddled our thumbs quite a bit. Not to mention the fact that we also had office politics up the wazoo, and it was too far away to drive through the damned traffic.) The library job... well... it was okay. Not challenging at all, of course. Just okay. I liked the fact we didn't have to pay overdue fines and could renew books indefinitely. :)
But anyway. I'm supposed to be packing. So I will leave you on that thought, and get to work.
"So this book is geared toward a certain kind of writer, the type best described by Mignon McLaughlin when she said, "Anyone can write. The trouble with writers is that they can't do anything else."
Which is not to say that writers are incapable of doing anything else, like changing tires or extracting troublesome molars. It's just that writing is the only thing they can do for an extended period of time without chewing on the furniture or checking in for therapy. It makes them happy. It fills a need, whether that need is a longing for self-expression or a quest for immortality through the written word.
Dilettantes, curiosity seekers and literary sightseers are encouraged to apply elsewhere. I am of the personal belief that there is something unique about writers that prepares them from birth and propels them throughout their lives toward this most remarkable of professions. Most of these writers are unstoppable. Throw as many obstacles in their way as you like, and still they persevere toward their goal, aften with nothing more than a vague idea of what that goal might be. Nothing, not even the most severe rejection, can impede the progress of such a writer."
Ack! This little "fault" of mine has been the basis for so many fights and arguments in the past three years...
"If you don't get published by such-and-such a date, then you're not going to try anymore."
"It doesn't work that way. If I get rejected, I try again. Forever."
"You can't chase a pipe dream forever."
"It's not a pipe dream. I'll succeed. Eventually, I will succeed. It might not be by the time I'm 30, but that's okay; that's just a general goal. But I will keep trying, and I will succeed. I doubt I'll be a millionaire or famous. That's not what I want..."
"That's stupid. I'm not going to let you do this for the rest of your life!"
"I'm not going to give up, Chris. If I give up... that's worse than not trying at all. If I give up, I'll never know if I could have succeeded. I have to write. It's like breathing. If I had a choice, I'd do nothing but write."
(As an aside, this is probably why I'm not a good gambler. Even though I made my $20 back, I kept wanting to put one more coin in, one more time, because if the guy behind me sat down at my slot machine and won three million dollars, I would have never forgiven myself.)
"I wanted to play hockey when I was twelve, but I don't play it anymore."
"Why not?"
"I wasn't good enough to play professional hockey."
"But you could have played it for fun!"
"You could write for fun."
"I do write for fun. If I didn't enjoy it, I damn well wouldn't do it. But writing is also my choice of career. This is what I want to do with my life. I've had some small successes..."
"Then where's the money?!?"
"It will come."
"Where's the money? You spend so much time in front of that damned computer... where's the money?!?"
"Chris, I'll have money. I get royalties. It isn't much yet, but it will grow. I have faith."
Snort. "Faith."
"Yeah. Faith."
I've said this before, and I'll say it again. I can't not write. Take away the words, and I'd be lost, adrift, a shadow person trying to pretend she was whole. I can't stop. I can't just quit. Even if the story is going badly and I want to throw my computer out the window; even if my characters are on strike and revolting until I think I'm going to go mad.
I don't think someone who doesn't have a passion like that can understand. Any job I get, no matter how well it pays, no matter how prestigious it is, will never hold a candle to writing.
Another exchange, last year when I was still looking for a new job:
"You'll be there three months and start complaining."
"Yeah, probably. It's not what I want to do. But that's okay; it's closer to home and it's a better job. I won't have to deal with the stinky politics anymore."
"I don't want to hear you complain about it."
Shrug. "I probably will."
"I can't believe they hired you with an attitude like that. You're just lazy."
"No. I'll do a good job. I'll do my job, but my job is not my life. My job is not my passion. Writing is my passion. In a lesser extent, dollmaking and photography are my passions. Not my day job."
"Uh-huh. Why don't you go to college so you can get a degree and do something you like to do?"
"I don't want to go to college. I see no point in it. And anyway, if I went to college, I wouldn't take writing classes; I'd take cool classes, like folklore and archaeology and stuff like that. Forensic Anthropology."
"Well, why don't you do it, then?"
"Because it isn't what I want to do with my life! Writing is what I want to do with my life."
"That's stupid."
Which was a moot point after my wonderful raise, and the fact that I kind of like this particular day job. It's not a career, and I'm not planning to do it forever, if things go well, but it's adequate. I don't hate it. And that says a lot in its favor, considering how much I disliked my other two jobs. (The desktop publishing job was actually fun. I loved doing the work, but there wasn't enough work to go around, and we twiddled our thumbs quite a bit. Not to mention the fact that we also had office politics up the wazoo, and it was too far away to drive through the damned traffic.) The library job... well... it was okay. Not challenging at all, of course. Just okay. I liked the fact we didn't have to pay overdue fines and could renew books indefinitely. :)
But anyway. I'm supposed to be packing. So I will leave you on that thought, and get to work.
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