I finished up my last book, officially, about a month and a half ago. It wasn’t until this last weekend- however, that I sat back, and tried to take stock of everything that was left… after the book took what it wanted.
Let me explain.
Whether any work is a best-seller; whether anyone except for your best Author friend bothers to read it, each piece is still a part of the soul of the Author.
I was reading a write up this weekend that attempted to chronicle the life and ultimate suicide of Ernest Hemingway. I’ll tell you that he was by far NOT my favorite Author, although I can’t in any good conscience say that he wasn’t one of the most talented writers of all time. If not all time, then certainly our modern time. He was a master of the word. And yet- he was a servant to each and every word; a slave to every thought which his brilliant mind conjured.
Most people, and I mean those who don’t write, have some universal notion that the work of a writer is laid back, easy going, and probably kind of peaceful. I’ve heard this from more than a few people over the years as in, “Hey, who wouldn’t want to be a writer… work your own hours, set back and relax, type a few hundred words a day?”
SO… .SO NOT TRUE!
Each word that I write is akin to a musician playing a note on an instrument. Whether that instrument be a woodwind, brass, stringed, or percussion, to strike that note requires energy…. Each note takes a breath, it takes a motion, it takes a piece of the musician. It’s exhausting work, preceded by repetitive practicing and rehearsal! We’ve all seen images of rock stars, dripping with sweat, exiting a stage after putting on a three-hour concert.
In my last effort- I spent 10 months, laboring at the keyboard. Yeah- I was sweating. If not physically, then certainly mentally.
It’s tough! I’ll go out on a limb and say it. If any out there think that you’ll do this and skate through your writer’s life on some smooth and easy plane- then you’d better think again.
You’ll torture yourself. You’ll lose friends. You’ll lose parts of yourself that you’ll never get back; and it may come to pass that demons from long ago will knock on your heart’s door. In the name of the Craft, you’ll have to let them in. You’ll want and need to hear what they have to say.
Afterwards, maybe they’ll let you go; maybe not.
More than likely, you’ll lose parts of yourself in each effort…. And you’ll NEVER get them back. Make that agreement with yourself now. Accept it as fact. When the time comes, and everything is finished- the Devil won’t give you the chance to reconsider. Instead, he’ll only walk away with what was once yours- pointing as he leaves to the finished work in front of you.
Think of it like that, and I’m not surprised that Hemingway put a gun against his head and pulled the trigger. Over the course of years, he had relinquished all that was within him…. for what? For the story; he did it for his Craft because that is what his Craft demanded.
At some point, early in his career- he agreed to his Devil’s terms. Each of us, in our way, in our own time, has agreed to some terms. The question becomes- can you live with that choice?
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