For Love of the Chance to Do It
By David Corbett | October 28, 2013 |
Richard Smolev
I’ve read a great many postings here and elsewhere in the blogosphere lately offering guidance and inspiration on overcoming the inevitable setbacks, disappointments, frustrations and rejections inherent to the writing life.
You want inspiration? Strap yourself in. I doubt you’ve heard a story like this one.
Back in April, 2012, I received a request from Tom Jenks, editor extraordinaire and co-founder with his wife, novelist Carol Edgarian, of NARRATIVE, an online magazine devoted to publishing fine writing, with a special devotion to emerging writers.
Tom asked if I’d consider offering a cover quote for a novel titled Offerings by first-time novelist Richard Smolev. In his note, Tom mentioned that the novel was “based in the world of finance and law, with an element of art theft involved,” adding: “Richard has a background in major bankruptcy law, and there’s an authenticity in his writing about the world of business and personal ambitions.” He noted that Scott Turow and Min Jin Lee were already onboard, then added the clincher:
Richard was not long ago diagnosed with ALS, and it is a great thing that his novel is going to come out this fall. We’d all like to see it have a good run.
ALS: Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis. Most of us know it as Lou Gehrig’s Disease: rapidly progressive, insidiously debilitating, invariably fatal.
Neurological in nature, the disease creates muscle weakness and atrophy until its victims lose first the use of their limbs, then their ability to speak or even swallow. They often become confined to a portable ventilator as eventually the diaphragm and other muscles necessary for breathing atrophy as well, creating a sensation like drowning, until the sufferer becomes an imprisoned consciousness in the withering thing his body has become.
It turns out Richard had been an extremely successful attorney before being diagnosed, and now that his disease prevented him from practicing law he turned to his long-eclipsed ambition to write—before he lost the ability forever.
I of course agree to read the book, fully aware I couldn’t praise it out of pity, no matter how tempted I might be. Luckily, that wasn’t necessary. Here’s what I wrote:
In Offerings, Richard Smolev uses his insider knowledge to put a human face on the recent financial collapse, revealing the players not as bloodless sharks or greedy carnival barkers but all-too-fallible men and women with much to lose—their homes, their dreams, their families, each other. The pages turn gracefully, hauntingly as the characters draw you in, forcing you to pay close attention as, bit by inexorable bit, things fall apart. But there’s steel in his heroine’s spine as well as heat in her veins. Kate Brewster knows the cost of ruin and isn’t yet ready to pay. A deft first novel from an author who’s been there and taken close note of the causalties.
I meant every word, and I was proud to give the book whatever help I could. Not long after I sent the quote along I received a heartfelt note from Richard, and an invitation to chat on the phone.
What resulted is a friendship unlike any other I’ve known in my life. And believe me, in weighing who’s getting the better end of the bargain, I assure you I’m making out in spades.
I don’t know how I’d respond in Richard’s shoes. I try to imagine the helplessness, the anger, the frustration, the dread of being buried alive in my own body. But I’ve never heard any of this from Richard. On the contrary. If he was any more chipper I’d want to hit him with a shovel.
Despite his ordeal he’s one of the funniest, smartest, kindest men I’ve ever known, and his emails and especially his phone calls, despite their brevity and the hoarseness of his voice, invariably buoy my spirits. But it’s in his absolute refusal to devolve into self-pity, his lust for the opportunity to put words on the page, his gratitude for being able to reach out to his readership that humbles me.
I envy and admire the love of writing and the joy he takes in the craft of it. His ability to type is restricted to two fingers. He tires easily. But he possesses a vigilant spirit and an indomitable will. More to the point, he’s brilliantly, boyishly happy at the chance to write.
Whenever I feel at risk of being swallowed up by my own dark moods—my seemingly bottomless capacity for self-doubt, my tendency to self-flagellate with criticism, my trance-like attention to the carping voice of self-contempt echoing in my skull—I turn to my file of emails from Richard, and remind myself how lucky I am, remind myself that writing is an act of love and freedom, remind myself to treat my readers as companions, not critics.
Incidentally, Richard is no one-hit wonder. I just received a copy of his second book, In Praise of Angels, a historical novel set in the tumultuous era of Reconstruction. He trains his eye on the wholesale corruption that surrounded the building of the transcontinental railroad, and plumbs the conscience of his reporter hero as he realizes the two great institutions he once admired, the government and the press, are rotten to their core, riven with petty hatreds, gluttonous for power, drunk on money.
I wasn’t sure what to expect, knowing how debilitated Richard was during the completion of the book. I feared that this effort wouldn’t be equal to his first, for reasons entirely beyond his control.
I was spectacularly wrong. God, what a fun book it is, so earthy, so passionate, so rich with evocative detail. Better yet, the voice is pitch-perfect — no mean trick for a historical novel.
Once again, Richard’s reached out and in his inimitable way slapped me upside the head, kicked my creative butt and made me realize I am part of a noble, marvelous lark. If I can’t take joy in the doing of it, if despite the inevitable darkness that all creativity entails I can’t eventually see the gift in my hands for what it is, I’ve lost my way.
David Corbett (he/him) is the author of seven novels: The Devil’s Redhead, Done for a Dime (a New York Times Notable Book), Blood of Paradise (nominated for numerous awards, including the Edgar, Do They Know I’m Running?, The Mercy of the Night, The Long-Lost Love Letters of Doc Holliday, and The Truth Against the World. He has also published the story collection Thirteen Confessions and the novella The Devil Prayed and Darkness Fell.
David’s short fiction and poetry have appeared in a broad array of magazines and anthologies, with pieces twice selected for Best American Mystery Stories.
His non-fiction has appeared in numerous venues, including the New York Times, San Francisco Chronicle, Narrative, Zyzzyva, MovieMaker, The Writer, and Writer’s Digest.
He has taught both online and in classroom settings through the UCLA Extension’s Writers’ Program, Book Passage, LitReactor, 826 Valencia, The Grotto in San Francisco, and at numerous writing conferences across the US, Canada, and Mexico. In January 2013 Penguin published his textbook on the craft of characterization, The Art of Character (“A writer’s bible that will lead to your character’s soul.” —Elizabeth Brundage), and Writer’s Digest published his follow-up, The Compass of Character, in October 2019.
There are only two choices in dealing with chronic illness: despair – or not letting the disease take one iota more of your life than you absolutely are compelled to give it.
It’s not much of a choice, really.
The only thing that gives pause is that writing fiction is a learned behavior – and it takes a lot of time and effort to become good at it. That has to be a consideration when illness limits the ability to spend the requisite 10,000 hours.
If you have a choice, the gift, and the time, it is an exhilarating thing to do with what’s left of you.
As it turns out, my agent is going in for surgery today to remove a malignancy in her ovary. I hope some of the goodwill generated by this piece somehow finds its way to her spirit. Your words, Alicia, gave me inspiration on how to help her as she fights this insidious disease. Thank you.
Incredibly inspirational! Thanks for sharing.
Glad it struck a chord, Kim.
Thank you, David, for this post. I can’t even find any words this morning except I’m glad I read this.
I like those words.
Beautiful. A horrible disease opened up a window to produce these amazing works. I look forward to checking them out and thank you for this inspirational post.
You’re more than welcome, Malena. Thanks for reading the post — and for checking out Richard’s work.
Having unintentionally allowed myself to slide into faux despair last evening (for no good reason), thank you for the timely reminder. It is a beautiful new day, not only because the sky is clear but also because I get to write.
I can’t comment on how faux your despair was, it could have been quite genuine. We all suffer our black moods, and they can be insidious and paralyzing. It’s how we respond that matters. I’m grateful I have Richard’s example and friendship to help me.
I’m always in awe of people like Richard Smolev. Such grace in the human spirit. I wish him every success and happiness. Thank you, David, for this most inspiring post.
Thanks for your kind words, Paula. And I have an idea Richard is reading this post and comment thread, so thanks on his behalf as well. Regardless, I’ll pass along your good wishes.
Extraordinary. Thank you for sharing this heartwarming and inspirational story.
Thank you for this story of inspiration. One that is very timely in my little world right now.
David-
“But it’s in his absolute refusal to devolve into self-pity, his lust for the opportunity to put words on the page, his gratitude for being able to reach out to his readership that humbles me.”
We can hardly say more, except to pray for such spirit ourselves.
BTW, David, your own The Art of Character is utterly superb. My hat is off. In showing how to plumb the depths of character, you show us that you understand people in a rare and wonderful way.
-Don
I agree both about the incredible spirit of Richard Smolev and about the inestimable value of David Corbett’s book on character.
Thanks for the attaboy, Donald, and the kindness. I’m flattered that you found The Art of Character useful, and glad that it resonated.
Great post! His gratitude and motivation are inspirational. I especially enjoyed this passage:
“Once again, Richard’s reached out and in his inimitable way slapped me upside the head, kicked my creative butt and made me realize I am part of a noble, marvelous lark. If I can’t take joy in the doing of it, if despite the inevitable darkness that all creativity entails I can’t eventually see the gift in my hands for what it is, I’ve lost my way.”
Sometimes we have to lose our way, or get a virtual slap by an unlikely source to realize the beauty and joy of what we have, and what we can share. Thank you!
Thanks, Kristen. Sometimes shock therapy comes in unexpected forms. Richard manages to fire my electrodes on a regular basis.
I think it’s a wonderfully inspirational story. Persevering when so many things in your life are encouraging you to shut down and weep is hard. So, it’s great when people are able to keep going, when so many of us feel like we might falter in such circumstances.
RJ: One of the things I learned too late in life is that I’m not alone. There are others willing to help if I can overcome my pride and my fear. We don’t know ourselves by ourselves. Allowing Richard to inspire me has been a major turn in my own evolution. I’m more grateful than I can express.
Amen, this story will stay with me until the end of my writing days.
What a wonderful post about a great writer and a great man. Your words, David, “If I can’t take joy in the doing of it, if despite the inevitable darkness that all creativity entails I can’t eventually see the gift in my hands for what it is, I’ve lost my way”, meant a great deal to me. Well said and so timely. I’m in the middle of sending out query letters and talk about possible despair! But not now, after reading your post. I will feel the joy in “the doing of it”.
Thank you.
Patti
Patricia: Good luck with the queries. It’s hard, allowing yourself to be seen so nakedly by others, especially those who have every reason (at least in their minds) to shower you with indifference, even abuse. But writing really is an act of love — somehow we find those readers for whom our words resonate. I think the key is not to see the endeavor as about your worth. It’s about your attempt to begin a dialog with your readers. Sure, there will be those who don’t get it. But there will be others who will. Cherish them.
For me, this post speaks of the power of writing to overcome all else.
David is correct that I’ve been following all the warm and thoughtful comments his remarkable essay brought forth. I’m so grateful to you all and of course to David for both his grace and his generosity of spirit. I disagree that he’s gotten more out of our relationship than I have, but the two of us will find a way to settle that score off-line.
David’s essay sparked the writer in me this morning, as it has to so many of you. I’ve had a rough couple of days on the physical side of my world, but being embraced by David’s words, your reaction to the piece, and the love I’ve felt from friends and family with whom I shared the essay, I told Mr. Gehrig to go sit in the corner while I started a new short story. Digging through my tool kit to find all the pieces of the craft necessary to make the story resonate is such a delightful challenge.
And you continue to amaze, Mister Smolev. Thanks for chiming in, and I look forward to reading the story. Be swell.
Richard Smolev proves that heroes do exist in this world. David, thank you for sharing him with us.
Such a pleasure to learn about Richard through you, David. And this line is brilliant: “If I can’t take joy in the doing of it, if despite the inevitable darkness that all creativity entails I can’t eventually see the gift in my hands for what it is, I’ve lost my way.” So true.
Welcome to WU.
Thanks for inviting me to contribute, Therese. I look forward to continuing the conversation here, and feel honored to do so.
My dad was diagnosed with ALS last November, so this has been timely in several ways. My goal is to have a book published in time for my dad to see it. On his end of things, he is handling his diagnosis far better than the rest of us. I’m looking forward to sharing Richard’s story with him. Thank you for passing this along, David, and to Richard for showing that a diagnosis is not an ending, but sometimes a beginning.
This was so inspirational! I lost my mother last October to pulmonary fibrosis and she was always cheery, always smiling even when she was tired and in pain. This reminded me of how special some people truly are and how blessed we are to know them and to learn from them.
I’ve been a singer most of my life. Some years back, I joined a new group of musicians that intimidated me a bit. Over time I noticed that I never got any solos. Finally I drummed up the nerve to ask the director why. His answer – you hesitate. You come in just after the beat.
That’s what we do when we’re fearful. God bless Richard Smolev for coming in boldly and fearlessly right on tempo regardless of the all temptations to lag.
This put a huge smile on my face. I’ve worked with Richard a couple times here at The ALS Association Greater Philadelphia Chapter and he has both an authenticity and a warmth that can’t be easily matched. I’ve enjoyed both of his books, especially his latest, and it is great to see his writing get the praise it deserves. He is definitely an inspiration to me and to many others.
What a wonderful story. Death looms ahead for all of us. It’s how we live and love that counts. As a chronically ill person, I take great joy in the good days, and slog through the ones. Thank you for sharing Richard’s indomitable spirit to write, and to write well.
Ooops, I meant difficult ones … it is one of those days where I write with an ice pack on my head.
Richard and I attended high school together. Richard is always at the top of his game. A scholar, a leader and a politician he always knew how to navigate life. I’m not surprised, facing his greatest challenge, that is is giving his all. Richard, I wish you the best and want to let you know you will always be in my heart and mind.
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I read Richard Smolev’s Why We Write essay in the January/February POETS & WRITERS yesterday. What a gem!
I just emailed Richard to let him know.
Richard was a year behind me in school in Buffalo and lived a block away. I was in third grade and he was in second, when walking home from school one day, he shared a mother’s day rhyme he’d written. I used it in a NY Times ‘lives’ column about my mother.
At age 7, he was funny, smart, and oh so cute. And already his writing resonated.
Thank you Richard Smolev for your gifts.
XOXOX Nancy Davidoff Kelton