A Little Book Is Murdered
Why do some writers have a hard time writing a book? Because they make it harder than it has to be. Actually, as writers, we all do. For more reasons than not, we have a sincere desire to make things perfect, when perfect is impossible. You should always strive for your best, leave perfect to doctors. Your best is easier and achievable.
I get you because I was the same at the onset of my career. I wanted to be all I could be and as quickly as possible. The problem was, I spent too much time on learning the art of setting up a story and I didn’t realize how important it was to enjoy myself in the process. Now after many years of being in the business, I’m realizing that unless you enjoy telling stories, you can’t be good at it. It’s like a chef who doesn’t like to cook but is in charge of dinner. If you are unlucky enough to eat one of his meals, the food would be bland and lifeless. You must love this craft if you are going to write a bestseller. Get into it for any other reason, and you’re doomed.
Reading books should be joyous and so should writing them. In fact, there shouldn’t be a writer alive who doesn’t enjoy reading novels. Reading great books is one of the reasons you decide to be a writer. Think about it for a minute. You read a great novel, it called to your soul and immediately you’re inspired. Before long you say to yourself, ‘I can write a book as good as that author or better!’ You decide at that moment to recreate the same feeling when someone picks up your book. And if you are lucky, you hope to replicate the same success. You don’t stop to think about your biggest problem…YOU! Allow me to take you through what really happens, the moment you decide to fulfill your dreams.
First, you have a great idea for your own novel. You make up your mind to tell your story which, most of the time, embodies large parts of your personal life. When you sit down to get started, the first page flows effortlessly. You take a brief look at yourself, the way your fingers move so ‘writer like’ and you feel elated. You can’t believe you are really about to do this shit. You’re really about to write a fucking book!
When you reach the second page, your motivation may not be as strong as when you first started, but you try your best to remain focused. After a few more minutes of faking it, you make an excuse that today is not the best day to start, so you call it quits for the moment. You’re not worried though, because you tell yourself you’ll be back the next day. Besides, you promised to make the chicken that thawed out in the kitchen sink, and your beans are soaking in the refrigerator. Your family will be coming home soon and they’re going to want dinner.
As you prepare your meal, you get on the phone and call a few friends to tell them about your new mission, to become a published author. You suggest that they save any card you’ve given them over the years, because before long, your signature will be worth millions. After all, you’re about to be the next big thing.
The next day comes soon enough and you force yourself to get in the mind frame. You read somewhere that writing an outline might help, but you’re not sure where to start. You grab your notebook, walk it to the kitchen table and pull out your chair. Sitting down, you examine the book before you write and open it slowly.
‘It’s really about to happen’, you tell yourself. Wasting no more time you flip the book open and look at the last page you wrote on. Suddenly you realize you don’t like your penmanship. In your opinion it isn’t legible and it worries you. I mean what were you doing, writing with your feet? If you’re going to be a famous writer you’re going to have to start from the top. This sort of writing is totally unacceptable as far as you’re concerned. ‘Nobody is going to be able to read this shit’, you say, pulling the page out. ‘I’m gonna start all over. Besides, I just started and have plenty of time.’
You ball it up and toss it toward the trashcan. It doesn’t make it and instead, it lands next to the can. In your opinion it’s some strange Omen. If your rough draft can’t even make the trash, what makes you think your novel will make it in the major leagues? Having played this game before with your mind, you shake your head, smile and get to work. You’re smarter than these mind games so you tell yourself you must stick to your goal. You want it that badly!
Your pen so eloquently moves across the page that you can already see the lines around the corner at Barnes and Noble. And then your phone rings. You place your pen down, scoot away from the chair and move toward the handset. The only reason you answer is because you’re going to tell whoever is calling to get lost. You don’t need them interrupting your work again. But when you answer the phone, it’s your best friend calling to tell you that theWhat’s Going Down episode of That’s My Mama, is on TV. Surely you can’t miss this show. After all, what are the chances of it coming on again?
So you neatly tuck your work away in your dresser, with empty promises to give it all you have next week. You would start again tomorrow, but you’re taking your mother to the concert to see Aretha Franklin. Saturday will simply have to do. You tell yourself you are just busy and not making excuses. When in all actuality, you’re making more excuses than a guilty man going to jail.
Saturday finds you soon enough and you made the mistake of telling an unsupportive friend about your book. They look at you as if your wig was sliding backwards and fell on the floor. At that moment you begin to question yourself and your talent. Who am I to even think that I could write a book? The nerve of me to think that I could be something bigger than what I am.
You make a discovery at that moment. You tell yourself that while you are a good mother, father, or friend, you will never be an author. You tell yourself its okay. Besides, being famous would be too much anyway. Who needs all the extra attention? Surely not you. You adore your privacy. You are destined to be a nine-to-fiver and that’s the bottom line. So you grab the paper holding the first line of your dream and wipe your ass with it. Just like that, your aspirations of being a writer are gone and so is your novel. You murdered your book, by yourself.
Were there some things you could have done to prevent this pitfall? Yes. For starters you need to understand what being a writer means. It means you will open yourself up to scrutiny from the people you love, and the people whose attention you hope do attract to your story.
If you are the kind of person to give up so easily, you will not have any success in this industry. You have to be strong to be a writer. You’re going to have to be selfish, and even unkind at times when you run into those who mean to stop you from achieving your dream. You are going to have to muster the strength to let no one stand in your way, and give your ass to kiss to those who don’t get the picture. Oh yes, you will have to be an unconscionable ass at times, but after awhile people will get the picture and get out of your way, or get run over.
Once you have scared off every last fake family member and friend in your life, those who are standing around you when the smoke clears will be all you need. Take a good look at them. They are the people who you’ve expressed your desire to be something greater than yourself and they are still around. They are far from haters. This is your team, and you need to respect them as much as possible.
What does that mean? It means that you can’t forget about them along the way. It means you have to make a schedule and stick to it so that you can spend time with them. It means that when you’re outside of this schedule, you need to give your family members and friends the love they require.
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