The Hidden—but Crucial—Mad Skill
By Kathryn Craft | December 9, 2021 |
photo adapted / Horia Varlan
My monthly column’s spotlight on the details of the writing craft won’t be worth anything if your writing life implodes from inattention to another mad skill: the emotional management of your writing life.
I was reminded of this last week while looking through archived computer files for an old craft handout. I never found it, but I did come across a document saved in “.txt” format—a real oldie! Reading through as if for the first time, I realized this must be the text of an email I’d written to a struggling client after the Great Recession changed so many lives starting in 2007.
Rereading this text—part inspiration, part pep talk, and part tough love—felt like a gift from my dewy-eyed former self to my current Covid-exhausted, inspiration-deprived, and creativity-starved spirit. For those who may also need it, I share it here as my holiday gift to you.
* * * * *
Dear Struggling Writer,
The inspiration I’m moved to share with you today comes from dance, the art form that first nurtured my creative spirit. The quotes sprinkled throughout are from Martha Graham (1894–1991), whose career of more than 70 years was fueled by passion, research, and imagination. But it was her dogged perseverance that gained her an audience and ultimately allowed her to change the world of dance. Her words speak as beautifully to a creative writer as they do to a dancer.
Of course one can’t be born wise any more than one can be born six feet tall. Graham’s profundity was hard-won. She was the daughter of Puritan-bred Presbyterians who were none too thrilled to have a daughter at the cutting edge of American modern dance. Her work was sometimes admired, sometimes reviled. But her persistent efforts resulted in a prolific choreography career that continued through the age of 96—from a wheelchair, due to crippling arthritis.
“People have asked me why I chose to be a dancer. I did not choose, I was chosen to be a dancer, and with that, you live all your life. When any young student asks me, ‘Do you think I should be a dancer?’ I always say, ‘If you have to ask, then the answer is no.’ Only if there is one way to make life vivid for yourself and for others should you embark upon such a career…”
Making life vivid for yourself, and sharing that feeling with others, is the high calling of a life in the creative arts. But it’s also a life that promises constant battles with self-doubt, existential angst, and financial instability. I wouldn’t blame anyone for quitting. I have another friend who is giving up on her writing right now. She’s discouraged because, like you, she found out that writing is harder than she had hoped. She kept sliding down the steep learning curve and had no more energy for healing her scrapes and then figuring out how to start climbing again. All of us go through this at some point, as the initial euphoria of discovering our creative selves is inevitably supplanted by the doubt that we may never master the skills needed to be a good writer.
“There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique, and if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium; and be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is, not how it compares with other expression. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep open and aware directly to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open. No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others.”
The recession put both you and my other friend out of a job and you both hoped you could make money from writing novels. But the expectation of income applies an awful lot of pressure to someone needing to benefit from experimentation and learning. And there may be years of it. Martha Graham always said it takes ten years to make a dancer; I’ve heard more than one author say it takes ten years to make a novelist. You may well end up making money writing fiction at home while raising a family, but prepare yourself for the fact that it may not be any time soon.
You are neither a good writer or a bad writer; you are simply a writer on a curve that will never reach perfection. You are early in your journey; you are where you are. You have a great storytelling imagination and natural talents that boosted you along at the start. Now comes the part where you need to learn techniques that may not be as intuitive.
“I believe that we learn by practice. Whether it means to learn to dance by practicing or to learn to live by practicing living, the principles are the same. In each it is the performance of a dedicated precise set of acts, physical or intellectual, from which comes shape of achievement, a sense of one’s being, a satisfaction of spirit. One becomes in some area an athlete of God. Practice means to perform, over and over again in the face of all obstacles, some act of vision, of faith, of desire.”
Will you get better? If you keep writing, yes. But the curve is never predictable, since each piece of writing presents its own challenges. One simply hopes that our accumulating skills will help us surmount those challenges more readily. This may or may not be true. We’re attempting an awful lot. We must illuminate detail while tracking the large picture, research fact while surrendering to imagination, move the story forward while deepening it with layers, beg inspiration to get us underway but then know when to let it go so that the work can evolve on its own path. And we’re attempting all of this while trying to apply learned storytelling craft that will keep the reader tipped forward in her chair, reaching for sentence after sentence. Great thinkers are drawn to fiction because it taps everything we are.
Accept that your work will never feel satisfactory, because without that self-critical element, we’d never try to improve. Our yearning to accomplish more is what makes it possible to endure a learning process that for quite some time may offer little promise of external reward. Writing for publication is a front-loaded endeavor to the extreme.
When dissatisfaction and disappointment rear their ugly heads, let your passion for your characters and your compassion for their travails drive you forward. Listen for what isn’t working, who you need help from, or what you must reach for next. Then go for a long walk, get a good night’s sleep, and get back to work. Ask the characters why they aren’t behaving, and write down their answers. Look for signs your subconscious has left behind, because it is much smarter than you are! If you have written a story about a boy and a girl and no one gets what that girl’s all about, maybe the boy is telling you it’s really his story.
You are trying to “make it” in the most trying time of publishing history, period. [2021 update: Ha!] Regardless of their authors’ hard work, manuscripts are piling unread on editors’ desks as publishers wait for all to sort out. But remember: your hard work is a prerequisite, and the only thing you can control.
Sometimes the most damning thing to a creative mind is the complete and utter freedom to pursue its craft. If the need for income devils you, maybe you need to go back to work. Then, your forced absence from writing might re-energize you to the task, and have you getting up early and going to bed late to do it. People who work full time get published all the time. Sometimes it’s only when life says, “Hey, you can’t pull that off!” that we get the guts to stand up and say, “Oh yeah? I’ll show you!”
I have patched together an existence that allows me to write while doing the developmental editing and teaching that I also love, but I have to give myself these pep talks all the time. When asked what the main reason is that people fail to succeed as writers, I’ve heard many agents say that it’s quitting their day job too soon. Warding off inevitable feelings of futility is hard enough without adding the impotence of not producing an income–especially if previous employment gave you many more reasons to feel successful in a day.
You will decide what is right for you. And if you keep writing, as I hope you will, I’ll be here for future pep talks. You hit me on a good day—I just hit the skids again last week myself. It’s all part of the writing life. You pick yourself up, ask a few writing friends to dust you off, and then continue to put one foot in front of the other.
Hope this helps,
Love, K
* * * * *
Reading this felt like receiving counsel from someone else. I checked in with my personal timeline.
I’d sent this email before I got my first agent, and the publishing circus began. Back before my work was a product exchanged for not quite enough cash to supplement my husband’s retirement, considering our stock market losses during the crash. Back when I could tolerate the highs and lows and the whole wild ride because I believed that the roller coaster was leading somewhere instead of going round and round.
I sure am glad this younger version of me was a writer, though, so I could learn from her.
This brings me to one last quote from Graham, which hammers home the point of this post.
“Great dancers are not great because of their technique, they are great because of their passion.”
I love craft. I eat the mad skills of other authors for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. But craft can get us only so far. Ultimately, it is our passion that will see us through.
Find a way to make life vivid for yourself on the page. Experiment, play, learn. Perform, over and over again, in the face of all obstacles, some act of vision, of faith, of desire. Reclaim your right, over and over, to be an athlete of God.
Do these things, and all else is possible.
There’s so much we could talk about here. Did you choose to be a writer, or did writing choose you?Have you ever learned from your younger self? If you wanted to leave a message here for your future writer-self, what would it be? Share the nuggets of wisdom that helped you back away from the edge when the going just got too tough.
Kathryn Craft (she/her) is the author of two novels from Sourcebooks, The Art of Falling and The Far End of Happy. Her forthcoming book, Crafting Story Movement: Techniques to Engage Readers and Drive Your Novel Forward, draws from decades of experience as both a story consultant and a movement specialist/dance critic. Learn more on Kathryn’s website.
[coffee]
Kathryn, this post is packed with so much wisdom and sound advice that I believe it should be required reading for every aspiring writer. I am so glad you found this file and shared it with the WU community. What you wrote about writing choosing us, rather than the other way around, is spot on. I was asked recently why I write and my answer was that that’s how I make sense of the world and how I discover who I am. And I suspect that is the case with most writers who have made a lifelong commitment to the craft. As for what I have learned from my younger self, it comes down to that old maxim, experience is the best teacher. It’s the mistakes I made when I was younger that have helped to shape the writer I am today. I have also learned how to overcome self-doubt, which constantly lurks in the background. A writer must have a rock-solid belief in his ability and an unquenchable thirst for learning and self-improvement. Writing is hard and the writing life is not for those who lack patience, perseverance, and passion. Thank you so much for this thoughtful post. It was just what I needed today. Best wishes to you and your family for a joyous holiday season and a happy and healthy new year.
That is SO TRUE about experience being the best teacher, Chris, although hard for us “recovering perfectionists” to swallow. We want to get it right the first time! I am taking French on DuoLingo now, though, and it’s really helping me get over that—one’s score goes well beyond what it would have been by getting the whole lesson right if you go back and correct your mistakes! This taught me that my desire for high achievement outstrips my desire to be perfect, LOL. Who woulda thunk it? I’d never thought of achievement and perfection as being different before.
Thanks for reading and for sharing that thought. Happy holidays to you as well!
Oh my gosh where is the LOVE x a million button? I will read this over and over. One of the many things I love about writing: it’s a snapshot of our mind at a specific moment in time. How wonderful that younger you can minister to (a little bit) older you and to me and to countless others.
Oh wow, thank you so much Kelly! That’s how I felt when I found it, and before I fully realized I’d written it, lol. My maiden name was Graham, so I like to believe Martha and I are connected in spirit somehow.
This quote, “Will you get better? If you keep writing, yes. But the curve is never predictable, since each piece of writing presents its own challenges.” really struck me. I find each story I write has new difficulties and creative demands. It does take an enormous amount of courage and persistence and polishing of skills. Loved this post, Kathryn. Inspiring on a Thursday morning! Thank so much.
So wise KC!
Hey, thanks for stopping by Kelly!
Hi Paula, I think that’s the way it should be, right? If each project does NOT present its own challenges, then the story of our career would stall. Let’s not deny ourselves a growth journey we can benefit from! Thanks for your kind words.
Happy Holidays to you, Kathryn!
So many Feelings in this post. Passion is exciting–but living a life of passion is HARD. “It is not your business to determine how good it is, not how it compares with other expression. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work.” How do you keep the channel open when you don’t believe in yourself . . .it’s a conundrum. Taking the effort that could go into so many things, and choosing to write is a compulsion, but some days it’s baffling.
Yes, it is hard, I agree Wendy. I think the secret is to find a way so that muring passion into our work doesn’t only drain us, but feeds us. I love the lines you excerpted here as well. Graham seems to be telling us that doing the work is our job; plenty of others will step up to judge it! When we focus too much on “what the market wants,” or what our fans want us to write, we are narrowing the channel that connects us to our truest creative work. This, of course, is the origin of the concept of “selling out”—when a creative surrenders her truest contribution in order to fit into a businessperson’s mold and make money. I’d be happy to strike a balance and have both creative gratification and income!
My favorite line: Accept that your work will never feel satisfactory, because without that self-critical element, we’d never try to improve.
This post IS encouraging. Thank you.
Merry Christmas.
Merry Christmas, Alice! Thanks for reading and best wishes for reaching ever further with your writing in the New Year.
If you have any talent at all, and the desire to do something, you will have to do what Graham did with her passion: the work.
Technique doesn’t make a great dancer – but great dancers work endlessly at their technique. There are no shortcuts until the body fails, and the dancer must do the walking roles on stage, or none at all. But those older-dancer roles are for the ones whose walking steps with arthritis are full of the passion and yes, the technique from the younger days.
I learned early the key step in writing: being aware of the distance between what is in your head and what you have captured on the page. Without that awareness, you can’t bridge that distance except by accident.
Great point, Alicia. Funneling the passion through the technique is definitely the way to go. And it’s because that can be counterintuitive that numerous authors—among them Ray Bradbury, Jerry Pournelle, David Eddings, and John D. McDonald—have said that it takes writing a million words to become a writer. And to your last point, that is just so hard for an author to determine on her own, isn’t it, once multiple drafts live on in our brains? Thank goodness for our beta readers, who can see our stories afresh.
Conservatively, for the mainstream trilogy I’m writing, I’ve written at least three million words – because I have to get everything down (damaged brain). And it seems I end up writing many, many versions of pieces – and then finally selecting one, and moving on. It makes sense that McDonald would say that – he is incredibly smooth; the Travis McGee novels can be reread almost ad infinitum. One marvels. Is it weird to say I’m writing the books I want to read, and I’ve read the first published one – usually in pieces as I need it to continue – enough times that I’d call it an obsession in anyone else?
I could not agree more about my beta reader – a real treasure – but she only gets the final version of anything, because I need that feedback for the subtle effects. The previous versions have already kept me up enough!
I haven’t read McDonald yet—thanks for the recommendation. And it is absolutely true that one’s own work will be the most read! And if you’re still enjoying it after all that time, it’s a plus. Congrats on putting in the words, for whatever reason. And your beta reader strategy makes sense to me. I don’t let people see early versions either, when even I might not yet be certain of the true nature of the evolving story.
Kathryn, what a gift you’ve given us A big shining box to unpack and unpack. I’m printing this not only as a source of strength and inspiration for myself, but also as as a gift to my sister, a dancer who isn’t dancing. Dancing chose her (I got to witness this growing up with her) just as writing chose me. But as time has gone by, the world has battered and buffed us in different ways. The quotes from Graham are so rich and potent, but this just rocked me. “…the queer, divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching…” I know that creature! It’s the unruly companion whose unruliness matches my own. Thank you so so much for this, and have a Blessed Season of Light!!
You picked a doozy Susan. I too know and understand the divine dissatisfaction that drives us forward. I’m so glad this post, and Martha Graham’s words, have offered you so much. Happy holidays!
Thank you for this encouragement, which comes after what has been an exhausting several months of setbacks for me. I have always loved that writing is a continually new challenge, requiring every one of my faculties to do it well, but when that spark of hope is extinguished, it just feels hard.
And yet, I’m still here, still writing. And that has to count for something in the end. At the very least, it means that I have laid the groundwork to still be here, still writing tomorrow. Passion requires perseverance if it is to persist.
I sometimes imagine that someone might one day want to tell the story of my writing career—and of course the setbacks are what will make it a good story. Keep fighting the good fight, Kristin! Things obtained easily are also easily set aside. Writing can easily take a lifetime.
I also sometimes say that my tombstone should read, “She died chasing her dreams.” What more beautiful thing could be said about a life?
Merry Merry, Kathryn:
What a marvelous love letter to the creative spirit, and those of us blessed/condemned to bear its fruits.
Two things especially stood out among so many other wonderful insights. First, this one from Martha Graham:
“There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique, and if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium; and be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is, not how it compares with other expression. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep open and aware directly to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open. No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others.”
And this one from you:
“Accept that your work will never feel satisfactory, because without that self-critical element, we’d never try to improve. Our yearning to accomplish more is what makes it possible to endure a learning process that for quite some time may offer little promise of external reward.”
I’d add that one must steel oneself against negativity of all kinds, which is terribly hard in this culture. Mikhael Chekhov, the son of the great playwright, in his book “To The Actor,” remarked that one must as much as possible remove negative, over-critical individuals from one’s life, because their stifling attitude can only undermine the constant vulnerability that true creativity requires. Instead, one must develop one’s own inner sense of truth and quality–easier said than done, of course, but essential.
Gertrude Stein once remarked that the only valid response to a work of art is another work of art. I’ve always loved the saying (source unknown) that, “Critics are the kind of people who go out after the battle’s been fought and shoot the wounded.” And in this light, it should be noted that Martha Graham had to suffer much from naysayers. Merce Cunningham sniped that he thought that when Graham danced she looked like she was ‘giving birth to a cube.” It’s a funny quip, a memorable one, but I doubt it caused MG more than a moment’s bother. That’s an excellent example to follow.
Thanks for this wonderful post. Have a very happy holiday.
Blessed/condemned: just one of the many paradoxes that a life in the creative arts forces us to embrace, right? And in the quote you chose, I love that it isn’t up to us to believe in ourselves, it’s up to use to do the work. As a dance critic with two decades of experience, that one really speaks to me, but while it’s difficult, I see that it’s necessary (while drafting, at least). And while I see the role of critic as one providing context and advocacy and Interpretation, I did get a chuckle out of the “shooting the wounded” quote! As for Merce’s perception of Martha giving birth to a cube, I find that a freakishly accurate evocation of many parts of the creative process, in my experience!
Thanks for stopping in and adding to the conversation as always, David. Wishing you all the best this holiday season!
Oops. Had I known you’d worked so many years as a critic, I would have…
Oh who am I kidding.
Thanks for taking my remarks so well. Further evidence of your generosity of spirit.
Now, where did I put that foot-in-mouth extractor?
Hahaha! No problem. While writing criticism in that role, and again for another two decades as a developmental editor (you know what I’m talking about), I learned that if I can dish it out, I have to be able to take it!
Such a tremendously encouraging yet realistic reminder of ” the high calling of a life in the creative arts, ,,, a life that promises constant battles.” Thank you, Kathryn, especially for the zealous urging in your concluding lines: “Find a way to make life vivid for yourself on the page. Experiment, play, learn. Perform, over and over again, in the face of all obstacles, some act of vision, of faith, of desire. Reclaim your right, over and over, to be an athlete of God.” I promise I will do my best to pursue exactly all that!
If you ever need to be reminded of your vow, Thomas, look me up and I’ll remind you! May you reap many benefits from your commitment.
Dear Future Erin,
Things will get better. And worse. And better. And worse again. And even when you get there (where?) you’ll realize that the thing is not the thing–the work is the thing. You can always do your best (for the moment) work. You are also free to stop working if that’s what makes you happy. Because you’re not really doing this for others–you’re doing it for you.
With Love,
Current Erin
Thank you for playing, Erin! This is great, question mark and all. I hope you’ll print it up and tack it to your wall, because who knows— future Erin might just need it tomorrow. And keeping the focus on the joy and meaning our writing gives us feels key to me, although too easily forgotten. I think I’ll print out your note to self for my own wall! Happy Holidays!
I love this piece and it is exactly what I needed to read today. Writing is hard. There is no question. Until you become serious about publishing, you really have no idea how steep the hill is. I am thankful for blogs, like yours, that remind me even the most talented writers struggle. I am thankful that you and others are willing to share your inspiration and expertise!
Hi Catherine, Younger Kathryn is so happy to have delivered this message right when you needed it. Looks like you and Older Kathryn were in the same boat. Self-doubt is ubiquitous in the creative arts, and I’m feel certain Graham was pulling from personal experience when she cautioned us not to succumb to it. Thanks for reading today, and best wishes for meaningful writing experiences in the New Year!
Reading this amazing post, I kept wondering if in the past you wrote something like it to me–maybe not this exact one, but certainly encouraging words and open and giving advice. I am always grateful when you are there–in person the times we have met and talked, and reading your Mad Skills. And I bought and read WHAT ABOUT THE BABY, reviewed it on Goodreads. Thanks for the suggestion, Beth
Hi Elizabeth, the spirit of my genre of support is always the same, even if the words are different. I like how Thomas describes it in his comment, above: “encouraging yet realistic.” And I’m so glad you liked What About the Baby! I’m sure Alice McDermott appreciates the review. As always, thanks for being such a devoted reader!
I love this, Kathryn! And I definitely need a little pep talk this week, so thank you. Writing definitely chose me, and during all the years I did other things, the desire constantly tapped at my brain waiting for me to just do it. Despite the struggles and frustrations, the challenge is what keeps me from getting bored, and I’m so glad I finally got started. Twelve years in and no regrets, but I can still always use the reminder. Thanks!
Thanks for stopping by, Gwen. We all need encouragement now and then—this life is just too hard to go it completely alone. You’ve pointed out another great paradox we must embrace, to add to the one David suggested in his comment above (that we are both blessed and condemned): the challenges discourage us, yet stimulate us. We’d rather not have them, but we must have them! Writing chose me as well—I’m always leery of handing out any sort of extemporaneous opinion without having written on the subject first to discover what I really think! And even then I can typically defend multiple angles—the mark of a fiction writer, for sure.
Wow, this piece resonated with me on so many levels. I put off creative writing (published author in my field) until retirement. Writing a novel has nagged at me for years, yet I brushed it aside to run a business and do other professional activities. So now at age 83, I am writing a rather complex medical malpractice thriller and loving it. Not loving, however the questioning of talent, the fact that there are so many excellent writers who seem to struggle and self-doubt. Kathryn, you have given me the swift kick in the behind I needed. Thanks.
Thanks for sharing your journey with us, Jan. A complex medical malpractice thriller—wow, what a place too start! But not only does writing choose us, but the stories do as well. Writing is a great retirement activity, but self-doubt will only slow the process. Maybe just make a contract with yourself not to let that happen by putting up a few of Graham’s key quotes from this post where you can easily see them? Enjoy!
Kathryn, what a gift you gave to the original recipient and to yourself and to all of us here. Thank you. Sometimes, I think some of the finest writing we do is for that special audience of one. This year, while I was celebrating my son’s graduation from college and my daughter’s birthday, my mentor, who held my hand through the early drafts of BOUND, was dying from injuries sustained in an accident. I wrote to her family upon learning of her death but also took out the letters she wrote to me–a treasure. Kathryn, I wept. Her words linger in my heart, esp. the word, “luminous,” that she used to describe my story, that applies to her soul as well.
I love writing and receiving letters for this reason–you can take them out to read again and again, enjoy the moments, remember them. So often our younger selves, in all their innocence, have such wisdom. Blessings to you for sharing yours.
Vijaya I love this: “Sometimes, I think some of the finest writing we do is for that special audience of one.” I think you’re right, and it seems Martha Graham (if I may be so bold) would agree with you. When writing for publication, holding onto that special pipeline from self-to-self seems to be the greatest challenge. Maybe it’s more like “being” in front of an audience instead of “acting” in front of one. I’m going to hold this in mind during my writing sessions—thank you for this notion!
And I’m so happy you have letters to help you hold close the voice of your writing mentor. Our written words really can be a form of immortality.
Kathryn, you are in deep trouble: now that it’s indisputable that you (all your “yous,” young Kathryn and seasoned Kathryn) are kind, perceptive and wise, you will be besieged with writers wanting more advice; they might even make you into a cult. Don’t be surprised if Kathryn figurines crowd Etsy. You may have to go into hiding.
All that piffle aside, what a fine, deep and knowing piece. Thank you.
Hey Tom, I’m thrilled to have prompted your very active imagination. Your comment was most entertaining!! Thank you for that gift and your kind words. Happy holidays!
What a beautiful and personally well-timed post, Kathryn. Thank you! xo
You’re so welcome. Merry Christmas, Jan!
Really lovely post, Kathryn.