What if you just didn’t care? What if the real art was you triumphing over the forces arrayed against you—not just in your mind, but the world? You triumph every time you pick up your paintbrush, sit down at your potter’s wheel, open up a Word document, lace up your toe shoes. You triumph every time you hear the word no but persist anyway. Art, creation, these are acts of defiance—or can be. You can either let the world crush you into submission or you can extend a stiff middle finger and say, not today, Satan.
I wish I could claim this phrase, but I cling to it nonetheless: "The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck."
When it comes to my writing, every time I sit down I know I'm doing something I'm very good at...but the fear of sucking is still ever present. Every time I post an essay, there's the voice in the back of my head that says, "BUT WHAT IF IT SUCKS??" It's why I obsess over it for far too long before I turn it loose into the world.
The strange thing about it is that no matter how bad I think something is, someone somewhere will love it. And no matter how brilliant I think a piece is, there's someone out there who'd shit on it given half a chance. It's the nature of art- those who can do, those who can't piss on your keyboard. Of course, all of that ultimately means absolutely nothing...because we all know what opinions are like, right? Yep, everybody has one.
Where I struggle with my inner critic is with the guitar, where my talent is nowhere near as innate and the struggle feels much more personal and closer to the surface. I'm nowhere near as confident as I am with my writing, even though I'm a decent rhythm guitarist. "What if I suck?" is a much more real and immediate struggle.
In the end, though, you're absolutely correct. If properly harnessed, our inner critic can be what pushes our art to places we might not be able to take it on our own. And that's not such a bad thing, is it?
The life of a creative is not an easy life, my friend. You know that. I know that. It's why I subscribe wholeheartedly to the Warhol philosophy of produce art, let other people decide it has merit, and while they're deciding, produce more art.
In the end, I believe the only thing that saves a writer is the compulsion to write. That's it. Without that compulsion, we get all wrapped up in the external world and insufficiently immersed in our internal world, and everything goes right to hell.
(1) Most recently: I'm really happy with the piece of fiction I'm on these days. Today is the last day of my mandatory pause between 2nd & 3rd full read-through, for a finished 2nd draft. Each read-through has a thematic highlight to be added in, because my initial writing process is so overwhelmingly narrative driven. During each pause I saw something that needed to go into the story, and this time is no different. (This one, for all that is just a few lines, mirrors something at the very end and makes both incredibly powerful.) But each read-through, I've really liked what I was reading. Which brings me to my secret to keep writing:
(2) I'd completed my classwork for my Ph.D., and one of the last classes I'd taken was with the man who would be my dissertation director, and later coauthor on "The Quantum of Explanation." The class was on a philosophical position known as "Personalism," and the paper was on Josiah Royce and Dr. King ("The Roycean Roots of the Beloved Community.") Randy (I'm not giving anything away by saying his name) was also the editor of the journal The Personalist at the time, and wanted me to submit that paper for publication.
I was unable to write for a full calendar year.
Every thing was wrong with that paper in terms of publication, most especially the citations. Instead of referring to King's collected works, I'd simply used the (well regarded) collection that had been our book in the class. And I couldn't bring myself to either fix "the problem" (a staggering amount of work) or just go with it as is (which seemed completely unprofessional.) Randy finally lost all patience with me, demanded I hand over what I had, made a few minor editorial changes, and published it. If you do a search on the title I cited above, you'll find it.
(2.5) After the above incident, it took me only 9 months to write my dissertation, and that was with built in mandatory time off for myself. Randy received each chapter, and had nothing to say. He later told me he felt like a 5th wheel in the whole process; there was nothing he could say to make it better. 13 months after I defended, it was published as a book (unheard of in the humanities.)
(3) I still suffer from "fraud syndrome" (there's a real term for this; it is endemic throughout academia, yet for my life I can't remember what proper term is.) Everything I read, every conference I go to (back when I could travel), my reaction was always the same: these people are going to see right through me; oh my God, that person is a REAL scholar (I don't know shit); etc.
Second, do you ever talk to the little voice in your head that keeps insisting you're a fraud? I do. I really empathize with her. I listen without judgment while she tells me what's bothering her that day (the voice sounds remarkably like my mother) and then I go on about my business. Every time she proposes something patently ridiculous, I ask her--seriously, and without irony--do you know that for a fact?
And, of course, she doesn't.
Creatives need to share the things that work for them with other creatives. Otherwise, we all end up thinking we're crazy/alone/misunderstood. And we're not. Boat, same.
For me it is pretty much exclusively about scholarship. I find myself intimidated because so-and-so is a REAL scholar, and I've just cherry-picked a few special details. And the truth is that within this little domain of scholarship where I find myself, I'm one of the leading people in the world.
“[T]he only thing that saves a writer is the compulsion to write.” SO true. I refer to it as an obsession, but it’s the same thing. There’s that and not being afraid to suck. Even Hemingway had a few bad days at the office.
I wish I could claim this phrase, but I cling to it nonetheless: "The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck."
When it comes to my writing, every time I sit down I know I'm doing something I'm very good at...but the fear of sucking is still ever present. Every time I post an essay, there's the voice in the back of my head that says, "BUT WHAT IF IT SUCKS??" It's why I obsess over it for far too long before I turn it loose into the world.
The strange thing about it is that no matter how bad I think something is, someone somewhere will love it. And no matter how brilliant I think a piece is, there's someone out there who'd shit on it given half a chance. It's the nature of art- those who can do, those who can't piss on your keyboard. Of course, all of that ultimately means absolutely nothing...because we all know what opinions are like, right? Yep, everybody has one.
Where I struggle with my inner critic is with the guitar, where my talent is nowhere near as innate and the struggle feels much more personal and closer to the surface. I'm nowhere near as confident as I am with my writing, even though I'm a decent rhythm guitarist. "What if I suck?" is a much more real and immediate struggle.
In the end, though, you're absolutely correct. If properly harnessed, our inner critic can be what pushes our art to places we might not be able to take it on our own. And that's not such a bad thing, is it?
BUT WHAT IF IT SUCKS??? :-)
The life of a creative is not an easy life, my friend. You know that. I know that. It's why I subscribe wholeheartedly to the Warhol philosophy of produce art, let other people decide it has merit, and while they're deciding, produce more art.
In the end, I believe the only thing that saves a writer is the compulsion to write. That's it. Without that compulsion, we get all wrapped up in the external world and insufficiently immersed in our internal world, and everything goes right to hell.
Fuck. This is like THREE "Gary Stories."
(1) Most recently: I'm really happy with the piece of fiction I'm on these days. Today is the last day of my mandatory pause between 2nd & 3rd full read-through, for a finished 2nd draft. Each read-through has a thematic highlight to be added in, because my initial writing process is so overwhelmingly narrative driven. During each pause I saw something that needed to go into the story, and this time is no different. (This one, for all that is just a few lines, mirrors something at the very end and makes both incredibly powerful.) But each read-through, I've really liked what I was reading. Which brings me to my secret to keep writing:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ssXWHa6ebWM
(2) I'd completed my classwork for my Ph.D., and one of the last classes I'd taken was with the man who would be my dissertation director, and later coauthor on "The Quantum of Explanation." The class was on a philosophical position known as "Personalism," and the paper was on Josiah Royce and Dr. King ("The Roycean Roots of the Beloved Community.") Randy (I'm not giving anything away by saying his name) was also the editor of the journal The Personalist at the time, and wanted me to submit that paper for publication.
I was unable to write for a full calendar year.
Every thing was wrong with that paper in terms of publication, most especially the citations. Instead of referring to King's collected works, I'd simply used the (well regarded) collection that had been our book in the class. And I couldn't bring myself to either fix "the problem" (a staggering amount of work) or just go with it as is (which seemed completely unprofessional.) Randy finally lost all patience with me, demanded I hand over what I had, made a few minor editorial changes, and published it. If you do a search on the title I cited above, you'll find it.
(2.5) After the above incident, it took me only 9 months to write my dissertation, and that was with built in mandatory time off for myself. Randy received each chapter, and had nothing to say. He later told me he felt like a 5th wheel in the whole process; there was nothing he could say to make it better. 13 months after I defended, it was published as a book (unheard of in the humanities.)
(3) I still suffer from "fraud syndrome" (there's a real term for this; it is endemic throughout academia, yet for my life I can't remember what proper term is.) Everything I read, every conference I go to (back when I could travel), my reaction was always the same: these people are going to see right through me; oh my God, that person is a REAL scholar (I don't know shit); etc.
So, first I must tell you: I LOVE GARY STORIES.
Second, do you ever talk to the little voice in your head that keeps insisting you're a fraud? I do. I really empathize with her. I listen without judgment while she tells me what's bothering her that day (the voice sounds remarkably like my mother) and then I go on about my business. Every time she proposes something patently ridiculous, I ask her--seriously, and without irony--do you know that for a fact?
And, of course, she doesn't.
Creatives need to share the things that work for them with other creatives. Otherwise, we all end up thinking we're crazy/alone/misunderstood. And we're not. Boat, same.
More Gary stories, please.
For me it is pretty much exclusively about scholarship. I find myself intimidated because so-and-so is a REAL scholar, and I've just cherry-picked a few special details. And the truth is that within this little domain of scholarship where I find myself, I'm one of the leading people in the world.
“[T]he only thing that saves a writer is the compulsion to write.” SO true. I refer to it as an obsession, but it’s the same thing. There’s that and not being afraid to suck. Even Hemingway had a few bad days at the office.