The Best Thing About Being a Writer
By Jim Dempsey | November 8, 2022 |
This morning, while walking my dog, I was reminded of a snippet about writing that is simultaneously the best advice and yet also the worst. I cannot remember where I heard it or where is saw it (if you know, please put the source in the comments), but it is something that has stuck with me and often comes back to me. It goes like this (and I’m probably paraphrasing here):
The best thing about being a writer is never having to say, ‘You should’ve been there.’
It’s such a great piece of advice because it is something to which every writer could want to aspire to, to tell a story in such a way that the reader can feel like they were in that moment too. Surely, that’s what all writers want to achieve, to let their readers experience the story rather than just read a description of events.
It’s also a little like the advice to write every day. I mentioned this in my earlier article on writing advice, and yes, it would be great to write every day, but sometimes life has other plans. This advice above similarly sets a very high bar. It’s almost setting you up to fail before you even start.
Portrait of a landscape
I was reminded of this quote on my dog walk because I often take a picture of the same scene. Every time I go there, it’s different. Different colors, different sounds and smells. Every time, I try to capture that moment. Then I look at the picture and I always feel a sense of disappointment. It doesn’t matter how many shots I take, I can never get close to replicating the landscape as it is when I look at it.
My first thought when I saw the photos this morning was that I wished I could paint. I think if I could paint, I could recreate the splendor as my eye saw it.
But clearly there is more to the moment that only the scenery. As I mentioned, there are the sounds and smells: the shrill whistle of the curlew, the woosh of wings as a squadron of cormorants swoop overhead; the slight sting of pine in the nose, the lung-clearing scent of eucalyptus. Then there’s the sensation of my feet crunching on that dirt road and the chill of the early morning autumn air on my face and hands. Plus the delight of seeing how much Dexter, my mongrel dog, seemed to enjoy being there.
And so I wondered if a truly great writer could capture the experience of such a scene. Could a writer portray the beauty of the landscape without resorting to an overly ornate description? Could any wordsmith accurately recount the sensations and emotions of the moment?
It’s already quite a feat to be able to fully appreciate such a moment without being preoccupied with the day ahead or with days gone by: reliving that argument, all the things you should have said, or what you’re planning to say at that meeting later today or even just wondering what you’re going to have for dinner tonight. All those things that you should, would or could have done.
Meditation and mindfulness training helped me to appreciate these moments, and there are many other methods to achieve the same thing. Some people get it from practices like yoga or tai chi. Others manage to find it through sport, painting or gardening. We each have to find our thing, whatever works for us, to get us in touch with our senses and emotions at any given time.
Ever closer
Capturing these experiences in writing is a different proposition, though, and one where we can all find ourselves feeling disappointed with our efforts. But I got closer than ever today with my photo of this scene after many previous attempts. Maybe this is the best one I’ll get, but maybe that perfect picture awaits – tomorrow, next week, or years from now.
No matter how good it is, I know it will never capture everything from that moment. And I know I will never be able to reproduce it in a painting – I don’t have the talent or training to do that. And maybe I’ll never be able to portray it words either – I learned long ago that my skills lie in helping writers rather than writing myself.
I was reminded of that lesson too this morning, that I’m fine with the fact that I might never be a great writer since I get more satisfaction from being an editor.
And maybe it helps some authors to think of this best/worst piece of advice, to aspire to be the kind of writer who never has to say, ‘You should have been there.’ But it’s important that you realize you might be setting yourself up for some disappointment if you don’t achieve that every time. As long as they realize that you can still be a successful writer (in whatever way you measure your success) without consistently achieving that particular pretty tall order.
As long as we’re kinder to ourselves when we look at that photo or the last pages of writing and feel that disappointment. We need to try to tune out that inner critic and remember that at least we’re trying and at least we’re having these experiences and thoughts and the kind of imagination we feel are worth sharing with others. The readers might not feel like they were there, but you can remind yourself that you were, and that’s something to be grateful for.
How do you recreate those special moments in your writing? How do you be kinder to yourself when you feel you don’t quite meet your own expectations?
Jim Dempsey (he/him) is a book editor who specializes in detailed analysis and editing of novel manuscripts through his company, Novel Gazing. He has worked as an editor for more than 20 years. He has a master’s degree in creative writing and is a professional member of the Chartered Institute of Editing and Proofreading and is a trustee of the Arkbound Foundation. Jim is fascinated by the similarities between fiction and psychotherapy, since both investigate the human condition, the things that make us uniquely human. He explores this at The Fiction Therapist website. If you have a specific concern with your novel, send an email to jim [at] thefictiontherapist.com, or visit the website to ask for a free sample edit. You can follow Jim on Instagram @the_fiction_therapist.
I think this is precisely why many journalists, pedants, and hyper detailed family members erroneously call fiction writers liars: they don’t realise we are trying to recreate the experience, not convey the raw meteorological data of the weather that day
Yes, that’s it exactly. And it’s about the truth of that experience – and maybe dressed up with some lies, if necessary.
Thanks
Exaggeration isn’t lies, it’s hypothesis.
It’s one of those, “So Mr. Smith: when did you stop dealing cocaine?” kind of questions.
“So, fiction writer, when did you start writing lies?”
The only response for such people is, “I reject the premise of the question.”
Hi Jim. Your post on every writer’s wish to make experience come alive inspires me to an imaginary “you had to be there” moment.
Gather ten WU writers in a classroom, and set up a poster image on an easel in front of them. Collect their phones and smart watches, and whatever other communication devices have been invented since the exercise was announced. Explain that the word processors on their desks have no internet access, and stop working at five-hundred words. Tell them they have up to two hours to write about the image, but caution them to not talk to each other, or to name themselves in what they write. Nothing is said regarding the readership or audience being written for.
As each writer finishes, collect the writing. Serve lunch (no talking) as all ten pieces are printed and photocopied. The writers are given folders of all work, and a ballpoint pen. Again in silence, they jot their reactions and comments, and choose, in order, what each thinks are the three best and three worst samples. Nothing will be proved by this exercise, but it will be revealing, both of the writers as writers, and of the writers as readers.
Yes, and you make a good point about writers as readers. Each reader can interpret those words in very different ways, depending on their own experiences. A whole other can of worms, or perhaps even an article for next time.
Barry, were you here when Jo Eberhardt used to do a regular contest? It was a lot like what you suggest: She would post a picture and we were supposed to write a short short story (250 words), and she, or somebody, would choose winners. It taught me more about editing than writing. I like your idea of having the participants choose the winners. Theresa?
I love everything about this post, Jim, including your gorgeous picture that actually does evoke a visceral response in me. I love how you hit on the universality of how difficult it is–perhaps impossible–for the version of our vision that makes it onto the page to fully match the vivid splendor of the one in our head–and how crucial it is to forgive ourselves for that and not let it hijack our creativity. And I especially love how editing fills your soul more deeply than writing. I can relate. 🧡
What a perfect way to express it – editing fills my soul. The prase expresses it perfectly. And that’s why I’m an editor, i can take such delight in other people’s creativity, content in the knowledge that someone else can do it way better than I can.
Thank you.
I love that. Max Perkins has a wonderful quote about wanting to be a “little dwarf on the shoulder of a great general” that resonated with me so strongly when I first read it. I often joke that I am a handmaiden to authors’ creativity–and that fills my soul too. :)
Jim, I love this post and the beautiful landscape you get to enjoy daily–it brought to mind a couple of psalms: The heavens declare the glory of God and the firmament proclaims His handiwork… Give thanks to the Lord for His mercy endures forever. Who alone has done great wonders…
I think it was a full moon last night. I stayed up late scribbling a new idea for historical novel sparked by a throw-away sentence I wrote as I mulled the opening of a piece that’s on deadline. Usually shiny new ideas distract me in the middle of stories so this is a first. My cat insisted on sitting on my notebook. And although she’d like to think she’s super-relaxed, she was tracking the movement of my pen and reaching out a paw to nab it, even as I rubbed her soft belly. I love this writing life, the chance to explore history and ideas, and although I have hundreds of unfinished stories, I have to remind myself that it’s okay. I also finish many others, the ones that don’t let go of me. It is really in the revising and editing and polishing that makes a story breathe with its own life. Thank you for the work you do.
Thank you, Vijaya. Great that you can let go of those unfinished stories. That’s very important, so you can go on and write those ones that, as you say, don’t let go of you.
Jim, there is so much in this post…with the photo, I feel I now know you better, though of course your posts are even more a part of that. Thank you for these words: “But clearly there is more to the moment than only the scenery.” That is what all writers work toward…taking the reader into a simple or complex scene, hoping that heart beats and human thoughts, emotions come on the page. Which, when you think about it, can be a small miracle..we are working ONLY with words…
Yes, and I think miracle is the perfect word here. Think of all those words and all the possible combinations and the chances of someone putting them in the right order to evoke a sensation in another person. Thats’ pretty miraculous.
Jim, love this post. It talks about what I struggle with every time I write–trying to convey to the reader the full experience of a scene in all its rich glory. The “you should have been there” you heard might have been from the recent Writers Helping Writers Show Don’t Tell post. In any case, no matter how vivid the detail in words or paint, every single person who interacts with it will interpret the piece a different way, through their own sensibilities. As soon as you share your work, you’ve given it over to another’s interpretation. Which can be a good thing, a great thing. I agree with your final thoughts. We need to be grateful for our willingness to share, and feel satisfied we had all those special experiences to hold close to our hearts.
I agree about that willingness to share, and to share with a certain accuracy. Writing goes so much further than just: I stood on a hill one Tuesday morning. It’s that willingness to, at times, be open to share your deepest thoughts and feelings about those experiences close to our hearts.
Jim, there has to be some pushback on this: “And maybe I’ll never be able to portray it words either – I learned long ago that my skills lie in helping writers rather than writing myself.” Your post, full of evocative feeling, cadence and lyricism, shows you ain’t no slouch on the writing end. (Had to put in an errant double-negative for you to viciously red-pen in your mind.)
But yeah, so much of the work on the page feels like it falls far short of that electric imagining in the head. But that’s often reason enough to keep going after it.
Thank you for your kind words, Tom. But I could never come up with a phrase like electric imagining. I’m more than happy to leave that to others and enjoy the moments when they know when to break the “rules” with the occasional double negative.
Cheers.
Don’t describe. Anyone can do that.
Evoke.
Out of the reader’s knowledge of the universe; with the right couple of details. You can’t make a reader see what you see – you can’t capture it, even with full video and sound. But you can make a reader FEEL as if they were there.
What a terrific post, and I agree with Tom Bentley that you’re no slouch when it comes to stringing words together and making a connection to the reader. The way you put us in that scene with you walking with your dog was superb. I think in order to be a really good editor, one must also be a really good writer, and the more we write and edit for others, the better we get at both. That has been true for my career so far.
Jim:
Your post reminded me of the need for a strong, clear voice when writing. So much a piece’s impact comes subtly, from work choice, attention to some details over others, narrator’s attitude. Two characters can look at the same scene with quite different responses, etc., which goes back to how the writer wants them to see it. How does the writer want the reader to “be there”?
Well first of all, great picture, haha.
And second, I agree with what you and others have said: The goal can’t be to “perfectly” or completely capture a scene or a moment, but rather to evoke certain reactions within the reader.
For me, the ability to let go of perfectionism has been an ongoing process, definitely aided by maturity.
How to ‘recreate those special moments in your writing’— present the impact on those characters who experience the moments. Think about it. We often like a character not because he has admirable qualities, but because other characters like and support him. We often feel sad, choked up, not when we read of a sad event, but when we witness the impacted characters overcome with grief. Sometimes we can see something more clearly by not looking at it directly. Don’t record the man falling from the tall building—record the faces of the crowd as they watch.
To Barry Knister’s wise comment on ‘10 Unboxter’s went into a class’… it’s good to remember that we are inviting readers to go somewhere and they bring their experience with them. I hear Jim Dempsey’s whistle of the Curlew because I live with them and they were my father’s favorite bird. I know them. The sting of pine is the family cabin in the Cascades. My life comes with me to your pages and story both broadens me and reminds me where I have been. I am deep in revision this fall examine whether the story I am telling is on the page (Kathryn Craft) and take some comfort in knowing it is not all up to me. But I need to be specific enough to invite the reader into their own emotional and sensorial ride and let them lose themselves in the tale. My challenge is to be authentic and disappear. And yes, it is also big. Very big indeed.