This Solitary Endeavor

Writing is as old, curious and difficult an endeavor as is known to man. A form of self-induced torture. Especially when writing a book, it can be solitary, soul searching, cathartic, brutally honest and never perfect. It’s facing emotions that are difficult to confront and endure. Some days the writing flows, other days the first word is nowhere to be found, only to be succeeded by no two words adequately following one another.

Starting is the hardest part. Finding some catch phrase or question to ask, or even a subject can be challenging. That’s where input comes in. Remember Johnny Number 5 from the movie, “Short Circuit” – “Input! I need Innn-puuut!” he would exclaim. There’s the key – we need to interact, to keep stimulating ourselves. Reading is part of that experience. Writing, being a product of the mind, needs food. Fingers on a keyboard need spurring on – let’s get on a thought pattern that drives them somewhere.

Writing isn’t always done when there’s inspiration. Oh, it’s great to write when it’s there, but that doesn’t happen every day. Like any project, there are drudging, have-to days. Still, it’s the love of putting more than a few words together that satisfies. But beware, falling in love with a sentence can be deadly. My expository writing teacher once said a sentence we’re enamored with should be one we consider deleting first. Sometimes I’ve cheated by trying to put it somewhere else. Don’t tell Mr. Devine; I already hear him admonishing me from his grave.

Many of us wonder how hard is it, really? After all, we all had to write stuff in school. Not that we liked it, but hey, we’ve all written. Ahh, but there is a difference – anyone can write something, it’s only the few who can entertain us, involve us, inspire us and engage us by making the imaginary seem real, the impossible possible, or what’s real appear interesting. That takes work, research, planning. A book is not simply written. A book is a birthing process with a gestation to give it a form, a shape, then definition, detail, and finally nuance so it comes to life.

In its birthing are days where every emotion plays out – anger, jubilation, despair, frustration, joy, angst, optimism, confusion, clarity. A path forward opens and another road, less traveled reveals itself. But the work rarely seems entirely done. And finally, will anyone want to read it? Does it have an audience? Has your voice rendered this story as one to which people are willing to give their minds? As in most things in life, only time will tell.

Only you know if it was true, honest work. It may always haunt you. It may become a beacon. It may remain an enigma. You may not know even when it’s done.

All that seriousness aside, writing can be fun, a release, even relaxing. Those of us whom I would call ‘casual writers’ generally don’t need to visit the dark side. Not that the thought of it doesn’t occur; it’s just not a requirement for the casual writer. There’s a joy to be had writing about things we like doing, experiencing or observing. Serious writing, writing with staying power, is writing that inevitably confronts our deepest thoughts, our darkest fears. Why? Because it must be honest. It must exhibit truth, at least truth as the writer perceives it.

I think, too, every writer enjoys reading the work of others. Writers can’t help but have a deeper appreciation for good writing – they know how difficult it is to create. Done right, it’s arduous. I greatly admire anyone who has mastered this craft. The great ones truly have elevated it to an art form.

I confess, normally I refuse to pursue it with that kind of perfectionist ardor. Doing so turns something pleasant into torture; it’s intense, exhausting, all-consuming but, and here’s the conundrum, extremely satisfying. Still, good writing can be entertaining, even enlightening without being difficult. Travelogs, daily reflections, short subjects, when carefully written essentially provide a conversational tone that, having been practiced for many years, generally flow from mind to pen to keyboard without undue hardship. Yet, the internal editor remains ever-present; the impression of something done right the first time should be regarded with great suspicion.

Writing is a craft that improves with practice and gets rusty without. Any writing carefully done is good practice. If you keep at it, once in a while you will actually be rewarded. David Foster Wallace said, “Good writing isn’t a science, it’s an art, and the horizon is infinite. You can always get better.”

Sounds like the rest of life.