“Ron, you should be writing. Why aren’t you writing?”
So my friend Dan said that years ago at one of our college friend’s weddings. Well, years later I’m finally listening to his advice. I mean, I always knew it. And I blog professionally and so forth, but I’m talking about more cultural blogging stuff. It’s not until I talk to people or give talks or whatever that I realize how witty and funny I can be at times. Mostly because so much of my insights are lost on my day to day audience. I can feel the creative awesomeness seeping away as we speak.
The more all of you tumblr dorks post links of what your friends (or you) are posting on these hipster literary sites and so forth out there, it occurs to me that my voice is probably a bit more timely and relevant than I used to think. Maybe it’ll fall flat, but I figure it’s worth a try. I’ve always been loathe to post in the comments because I end up writing 500 words anyway.
Part of the problem is living outside of the muck, but I can’t let the hinterland be a crutch anymore when it comes to stuff like that. Now I have no idea what my vehicle will be or anything like that. But I feel like it’s time to branch out a bit and start pitching some things. Sure where I live is mucho aburrido pero I am still connected and have things to share, say and communicate.
I’m posting this mostly for accountability purposes. Until I delete it.
The beautiful thing about writing is it has no real respect for credentialism. You can get various degrees in writing. (Indeed my initial plan was to get an MFA.) But a degree can’t make you a writer in the way that JD can make you a lawyer.
Great writing comes from all classes people and all kinds of experience. Edith Wharton was raised rich. E.L. Doctorow was not.
When I visit schools around the country I consistently repeat this—not because I think school is worthless, but because, very often, there are kids in the audience who are lost, just as I once was. I don’t come there to contravene their education. I don’t come there to tell them to drop out.
On the contrary, I try to reinforce the ethic of hard work. But they need to know that a grade in a class, is not who they are—and I would say that whether the grade is an A or an F. I failed English in high school. And then failed British Literature in college. For whatever reason, it simply wasn’t my time. But had I taken those grades as an eternal mark, I doubt I would be talking to you now.
I tell them, “I write this shit for you!” But a lot of writers won’t admit to that, a lot of artists won’t admit to that. They’ll get artistic, or pretentious, or, you know, talk about some “higher calling.” The fact is, I want to move rooms full of people. I want to move someone sitting alone under a reading lamp. I want to move someone sitting on a beach. I want to make them laugh and cry. I want them to see me and come running up to me and tell me how the books made them feel. I love that!
And don’t worry about losing. If it is right, it happens—The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.
…you better do it now because you know how to write, and you have fingers, and you have this one life, and during this one life, you should put your words down, and make your voice heard, and then let others hear your voice. And the only way any of that’s going to happen is if you actually do it. People can’t read the thoughts in your head. They can only read the thoughts you put down, carefully and with great love, on the page. So you have to do it, goddamnit. You have to do it, and you can step back and be happy. You can step back and relax. You can step back and feel something like pride.
Then of course you’ll have to revise it ten or twenty times, but let’s not talk about that yet.
Write your goddamned book now. The world awaits.
