I’m on a plane.
Short flight. About ninety minutes.
I don’t feel like reading. And I don’t feel like watching anything I’ve downloaded.
I touch the screen in front of me to bring up the plane’s media selection.
I see a collection of TED Talks.
And I see there’s one given by Anne Lamott, the author.
I read her book, Bird by Bird, a few years back.
It’s a writing guide.
I’ve read many such books, always on the lookout for tips to become a better writer.
What I remember most about Lamott’s book was her ongoing lament about aspiring writers’ fixation on getting published.
It ain’t all it’s cracked up to be, she argues.
A writer should write for the pure joy of it, according to Lamott. Nothing more.
It’s a skill to be honed over the course of a lifetime.
Like the Japanese guy studiously engaged in the decades-long pursuit of forging the perfect blade for the perfect kitchen knife.
Or engineering the ultimate spicy tuna roll.
There’s honor, dignity, maybe even enlightenment, in steadfastly following the journey.
Even if you never reach the destination.
Which, if I’m following Lamott’s argument correctly, is publication.
This, from a bestselling author with numerous titles in print.
I understand the argument.
A true artist feels compelled to create, regardless of how the creation is judged by others.
I think Lamott is correct in that regard.
As for publication being a path to disappointment, I have a thought on that, too.
It’s complete bullshit.
Here’s the thing:
We’re all kids who desperately want mom to put our finger painting on the refrigerator.
We want her to hold up and celebrate our achievement like it was a Da Vinci.
We want her to rush dad to the refrigerator when he gets home and tell him their kid must be some kind of prodigy.
We want that. We crave that.
Even if the finger painting sucks and lacks any artistic merit whatsoever.
We never stop being that kid.
I never have, at least.
About a year ago, I walked into the Executive Officer’s office at Navy Reserve Center, Newport, Rhode Island.
I’d never met the guy.
Some of his people had been helping me resolve an admin issue, and I wanted to say thanks.
As we were exchanging pleasantries, I noticed a book on his desk.
My book.
Trying to play it cool, I asked him about it, without letting him know I’d written it.
“Some people have been talking about it,” he said, “so I thought I’d check it out.”
Are you kidding me?
People have been talking about it? About my book.
I was floored.
I eventually picked it up off his desk, turned it around, and showed him my picture on the back cover.
“No shit!” he said.
The next day, a Petty Officer finds me in my office.
She’s clutching a copy of my book.
“Sir?” she asks. “Would you mind signing this for me?”
Would I mind?
Would I mind?
There is almost nothing on this planet that would bring me more joy.
I asked her to sit down and tell me what she thought of the book.
Was it useful?
She said it had helped to clarify her thinking on whether to leave active duty.
And she’d shared the book with her husband, also an active-duty Sailor. It had been similarly useful to him.
We talked for about fifteen minutes.
And those fifteen minutes will forever be a part of my life’s highlight reel.
So, Anne Lamott, do I want to get published?
Do I want strangers to read my stuff and tell me how great it is?
Do I want to one day walk through an airport and see a copy of my book standing upright on a pile, on display, in one of those Hudson News stores?
Am I so needy as to desire those things?
Shit, yes! I am.
I’m sure you’re disappointed, Anne.
Yes, I enjoy writing.
And I do indeed want to get better at it.
And I know that much of what I write will never see the light of day.
And that’s okay.
But, I should tell you,
That aspiring author, at her keyboard, working hard at her craft, day-in and day-out,
For the pure joy of it,
Without any concern as to whether she’ll one day get an agent or publisher,
Or whether one of her titles might one day get a thousand five-star reviews on Amazon,
You know, that writer?
The one you so idealize?
Doesn’t fucking exist.
It’s true.
Hate to be the one to break it to you.
But I did enjoy your TED Talk.
Love,
Dan