In Praise of Episodic Enthusiasm
By Kristin Hacken South | April 25, 2024 |
Quick note: Kristin Hacken South is in Egypt today, doing some of the things she loves best, including excavating artifacts. With iffy connectivity issues and a computer on the verge of mummifying itself, she’ll respond to any comments as she can.
Do you worry, as I do, that you’ve frittered away your best years and are coming to your real work too late? If so, consider the examples of two nineteenth century scholars, Jean-François Champollion and Thomas Young.
Champollion and Young started out with similar educational backgrounds that pointed them toward the decipherment of ancient languages. Champollion was fluent in seven languages by age 11 and added four more by 17. He did not confine himself to European languages, but studied Ethiopic, Chaldean, Persian, and Chinese, among others. By 14, Young was fluent in eleven languages including Syriac, Turkish, and Arabic. Both were curious enough about the mysterious Egyptian languages that they made a special study of them.
Here’s where they diverged: Champollion obsessed over the study of Egypt. In 1806, he wrote to his parents regarding Egypt, “I want to make a profound and continuous study of this ancient nation.” He was 15.
Champollion brought a single-mindedness to his study of Egyptian hieroglyphs that allowed him to upend established paradigms about this “sacred script.” He studied Coptic, the final stage of the ancient Egyptian language, with a native Egyptian and gave his first lecture on the connection between Coptic and hieroglyphic Egyptian at age 16. In 1809 he declared to his brother “I give myself up entirely to Coptic…I wish to know Egyptian like my French.” Keep in mind that Champollion was French.
As an adult, Champollion continued to focus all of his studies on Egyptian languages. Finally, in 1822, the acquisition of a new set of ancient texts allowed him to confirm the accuracy of his theories. He ran to tell his brother “I’ve got it!” and collapsed onto the ground. (Unlike the first marathon runner, he later recovered.)
Whatever people might think of Champollion personally – he was loudly on the wrong side of the politics of his day, and he stubbornly refused to credit the ways in which his study of hieroglyphs benefitted from Young’s work – I can’t help but admire his passion. He was arrogant enough to believe he would solve an intractable problem and pigheaded enough to keep working on it for years until he finally did.
But what if I told you that Thomas Young, whom you have probably never encountered until now, was arguably the more brilliant of the two? Consider: in 1813 he decided to pick up the study of what he called “enchoric,” later known as Demotic, the language wedged between the hieroglyphs and the Greek on the Rosetta Stone. By 1814 he had completely translated the inscription. You read that right: he decided to tap away at it and a year later he’d cracked it wide open. He’s rightly credited with deciphering a language that I as a student called Demonic because of its impenetrability.
Young’s contributions to the study of hieroglyphs had the potential to be equally transformative, but there’s the catch: “potential.” Young was a polymath, a brilliant scholar who never committed to one passion. He practiced medicine. He created a formula for understanding blood flow. He contributed the term “Indo-European languages” to linguistics. He’s considered the founder of physiological optics. Einstein praised his work because he freaking developed the wave theory of light.
As you might imagine, all of this work didn’t leave him a lot of time to study hieroglyphs. He came, he saw, he went off to conquer something else.
The stories of these two men were on my mind last month when I led a tour group around Egypt. Nearly every ancient site we visited was covered in hieroglyphic writing, and thanks to their breakthroughs, I could translate quite a bit of it – but not all.
Not all, because like Young I’ve scattered the seeds of my time across multiple terrains rather than planting them in one field. I have spent years of my life learning to excavate archaeological sites, teach, do linguistic analysis, play the piano and clarinet, and sing. I have baked bread and made jam and quieted a crying baby, sometimes simultaneously. I’ve practiced the basics of knitting and crocheting and tapestry weaving. I’ve run a marathon and given birth three times without pain medications. Not to brag, but sometimes I can even do a yoga flow without resorting to child’s pose in the middle. My scattershot years weren’t wasted; I just didn’t “give myself up entirely” to one thing, as Champollion did.
I know I’m not alone. Many writers have other careers prior to writing, or simultaneously with it. You can probably name your own favorite authors who did X and Y before writing, and usually those experiences were what they drew upon to create their unique voices and worldviews. Most of the time I’m heartened by these examples, but in the dark nights of the tortured writerly soul, I fret: Is greatness–or even competency– a realistic goal for someone who has fiddled away so many years on other projects? If it takes ten thousand hours to get decently good at something, who’s got that kind of time, after spending a thousand hours here and another thousand there and a few thousand more binge watching police procedurals?
If you and I have missed the chance to be the Champollion of fiction writing, whatever that might look like, can Thomas Young provide a good alternative? He was less celebrated in any one field, but darn good at a lot of them. He did also have the leisure of an inherited fortune and brilliance of a kind most of us can’t fathom – so what I really want to explore is whether mere mortals can still create a meaningful life’s work after doing other things.
I realize I’ve taken a long time to come around to the point — just as I’ve taken a long time to come around to writing as my life’s work — but here it is: history shows us that everything has its counterpart in the study of ancient Egypt. You like fashion? Egypt has the world’s oldest preserved dresses and another five and a half thousand years worth of clothing tucked into museums for your viewing pleasure. Architecture? Check out those pyramids and temples. Death and mortuary practices? Umm, hello, mummies. Taxes? Accounting? Medicine? Astronomy? Egypt has so many documents that Champollion and Young made it possible for us to read.
Why should writing be any different?
Of course writers can take inspiration from any direction. Of course enthusiastic effort in one pursuit disciplines a person for excellence in another. And if a series of unrelated specialties coalesce into story, what matters is that we pick up the pen. Write?
When did you come to writing? Do you wish it had been in some other way?
Where’s your balance of focus versus experience? Did your life ever veer off course in a way that has enriched your writing?
I’ve claimed that inspiration can come from any direction. Can you, the amazingly well read connoisseurs of this column, name even one scintillating piece of fiction that illuminates the world of taxes or accounting? If not, what are your favorite police procedurals?
Kristin Hacken South is happiest on the days that she works on her fiction, which to date has included a few short stories, two middle grade detective stories, and two adult novels. She lives in Atlanta, with three independent book stores within walking distance of her house. Her idea of a good time is still a day in the desert with a trowel in one hand and a notebook in the other.
[coffee]
Mathematicians—or is it physicists—believe that their greatest work occurs when they are young. At forty they’re done. In general, though not always, with fiction writing it’s the opposite.
Recently, I tried reading Graham Greene’s first novel, The Man Within. I gave up. Frankly, it’s awful: over-written and emotionally over-wrought. His better work was written later.
Not that being young makes writing great fiction impossible—Francoise Sagan and Christopher Paolini come to mind—but with fiction writing it is helpful to have life experience to draw from. (And it may be crucial to engaging reader imagination, the subject of my next post here on WU.)
Of course that life experience must meet a skill set that is not simple, though perhaps not as complex as translating the Rosetta Stone. Those skills take time to master, but the age at which one starts doesn’t matter either. I’m not saying that every fiction writer should learn crocheting (seriously, why?) but that every fiction writer should curiously observe the world and people, and form opinions of those. Experience matters.
BTW, this post is brilliantly organized and told. Lifelong focus or lifelong eclectic learning? The important thing in writing fiction is to have a life to write from in the first place…and then write. Well done.
Just chiming in to say I’ve added a note to the top of Kristin’s post. She reached out this morning to ask me to fix a typo (they multiply rabbit-like after a post is scheduled), to say she is appreciative of Don’s comment here (thanks, Don!), and to let me know her computer–perhaps inspired by all of the artifacts–is on the edge of death. She’ll respond to comments as she can.
Thank you, Therese! I have a borrowed hotspot and all of 30% power on my computer. Typing furiously…
I think that a lot of people who love to read imagine that their prowess at reading will translate into effortless expertise at writing. In the past ten years I have learned that this is not the case.
Crocheting, on the other hand? I was able to pick up the basics of this essential skill in about 45 minutes. You never know when you might need to whip up an emergency tourniquet with fibers plied from your own hair, or make a color-coordinated set of doilies to assuage a visiting diplomat. I urge you to get right on this.
Hey Kristin — I came to writing in my mid-forties and have occasionally bemoaned my late start. But the older I get the better I grasp the value of my years in business. It didn’t involve Egyptian archeological digs or anything, but folks might be surprised by the variety of things to which a career in wholesale lumber exposes one. There was the travel–the ancient and young forests, the modern-marvel sawmills and old rickety ones. There was the eventual application of the product, in my case mostly residential architecture–new tract built, one-of-a-kind luxury homes, and meticulous historical renovation. But mostly there were the people, from all walks–vendors, customers, builders, homeowners, and employees. I can only imagine how the stories I would’ve written without that experience might have turned out, but I’m certain they would not have had nearly the depth I’ve managed.
Although I’ve been working on it, I sometimes still fall into the trap of obsessing over why my books aren’t doing better and how I might affect that trajectory. It definitely steals time from working on the next one. To jolt myself out of the mindset, I remind myself what I think will matter to me on my deathbed. Will it matter to me in the slightest how many reviews each book got, or their star scores, or even their sales figures? Especially if the stories I’ve yet to publish remain unfinished? I don’t think so. In that same scenario, will it matter how many of my books I end up publishing versus how much time I spent with my wife and extended family and dear friends when I had the chance? Same answer. Puts things in perspective for me.
I’m with Don–loved how this piece led me though with such intrigue to a solid resolution. You’re an accomplished essayist, which makes me anxious to read your novels. Thanks for starting my day with thoughtful positivity!
I love your list of wholesale-lumber-business-related skills. It’s kind of like Egyptology, isn’t it? Such a variety of aspects of real life can be brought to bear.
One of the most difficult things for me, I think, is that by continually trying new things and getting sorta good at them, I have not had the satisfaction of full mastery of anything that I really wanted to excel at. Your comments about perspective are important in this regard. Thank you again for your thoughtful response!
Thanks to Kristin and Don. I have been writing for years, but when you also have careers…an English teacher after college, and then, because I absolutely had to, achieving my nursing degree…but why? Because knowledge is fantastic, wonderful, amazing and it calls to you, luring you to accept that call. I love this post, because writers come from so many backgrounds, experiences and we BRING ALL OF THAT to our work. There is no exact format for becoming a writer. Some of us wrote well even in grade school….but of course that really isn’t the point. The inspiration to WRITE can come at any time in one’s life. It’s a calling, it urges you on. And the best thing…you follow, you write, because it is now just the damn right time.
Yes to all of this! Good books let us see into worlds we’ll never personally inhabit. What a gift when people write from their lived experience.
Some people are fundamentally different from me. I accept that and try to work with who I am and try to forget who I am not.
I have a deep drive in me to express myself creatively every single day. I need to do it, like I need to eat. A few days without it and I’m moody and hard to be around.
I’ve never been able to limit myself to one form of creative expression, although writing is my first love, it has to share me.
There have been times when it’s about an acceptance of finances and responsibilities. It was quicker to play guitar, or crochet a granny square than write a novel when I was a working single mom. But even though decades later, I now have the money and time, I find my multiple arts and interests feed and support each other. I see patterns, themes and inspiration across the words, the paint, the fibers, the metal. I know that I do my best writing, not in spite of, but because of all my interests. Diversity is strength. I truly believe that. It’s true for humanity and it’s true for the arts. It’s definitely true for my life.
You spoke my heart Ada. I started out a fine artist in pastel and watercolour, then became a mom. Needing to feed and clothe the kiddos, I learned to do other things to make money. While working in a now-career I took up sewing in a big way on the side. It’s still on my bucket list to have a loom and try fibre arts. Later in life I began to write, something I thought I couldn’t do as I’m so dyslexic. Low and behold, now I’ve retired and write full time, in the Nonfiction and Narrative Nonfiction genres on our ancestors for those same kiddos. I’m quite sure being able to succeed in my day by day work despite not finishing 10th grade and not being able to pass a test has contributed to my self-confidence. I’m now pursuing publication through an agent. We’ll see on that. Meanwhile, I will leave behind a body of work I am proud of, that will live on in my children, grandchildren and great grands. They won’t recall what I did for a living, but they’ll know about me and their ancestors who made me and them by what I’ve written. It’s a good life.
Thank you for letting me know, Patricia.
I love that you work in fiber arts. (Did you click on that link to the world’s oldest preserved article of clothing?) In early medieval Egypt, the monks in one of the monasteries in Upper Egypt used to weave ribbons for use in burials while they chanted their psalms/scriptures. Like you, they didn’t try to limit their creative expressions! A repetitive but creative task can free the mind. I agree with you that patterns can emerge from the most disparate of activities!
I love this post. What a delight to start my morning.
Thank you, Barbara. That means a lot from you!
Wholeheartedly agree! This was so enjoyable, educational, and instills hope for me… thanks Kristin!
Kristin, I love your essay and like you and many others, I’ve been so privileged to follow my passions–research scientist, marriage and motherhood, music, writing, religion–and all these creative pursuits cross-pollinate. It’s so wonderful you are in the middle of an excavation… oh, the stories you will unearth too. At times, I wish I were more single-minded about the writing because I have so many stories I want to tell, and I’m a latecomer to the craft, but life is rich with all it has to offer and I want everything! I will probably die pen in hand, a psalm of praise upon my lips.
Beautifully said, Vijaya.
I always wish I were more single-minded about writing…until I’m digging, and then I wish I were more single-minded about archaeology. It’s tough to be divided. I really hope, like you, to get many stories out into the world, and to have them combine as many loves and experiences as possible!
I already texted you this morning–so you know how I feel! But I will emphasize something else you’ve nailed very well and encourage others apply it–whether Champollion or Young in nature (with some edits): ____ was arrogant enough to believe ____ would solve ____ and pigheaded enough to keep working on it ____ until ____ finally did.
It seems counterintuitive to be arrogant, selfish. But that is where we go wrong. We have assigned to those attributes a belief or judgment that they are inherently bad. Well, creatives cannot create without the beneficial aspects of arrogance and selfishness. One can be humble and driven. But humility will fail you if it doesn’t toss you out of bed each day certain of the need to create–and share–what only you can bring.
When I was assessed and identified as a Young, it was transformative to actually see it, inasmuch as it also has not always been an easy place to be. I have been a Young in the shadows–partly by some choice and by circumstance. So, thank you Kristen for your writing. Those who want more, who want to be convinced further, I recommend reading Range: Why Generalists Triumph in a Specialized World by David Epstein.
Life is too short may be cliche, but be arrogant in exploring what you want to understand. Be selfish in deciding it is worth it. The joy you experience will delight, enliven, and inspire every other tender soul that is yearning, just as Kristen’s efforts have here today. Thank you, Kristen!
I’m fascinated that you picked up on that part specifically, Susan. I have talked many times with a friend (who also writes) about the need for us to be more selfish about our writing and to have more certainty in the worth of our potential contributions. It might be something to explore in a future post!
I’d love to co-write it with you!–if any necessary pitch is successful, or please interview me from the coaching perspective, which has certainly not been the cause of but rather the thing that solidified the gumption I already had. I spend the most time in any given coaching session observing and mirroring back what individuals already know, but don’t realize they KNOW! I mean, what would it be like to reach the tipping point, where believing anything else is impossible? Ha! That is different from finding the time to write, but again I will applaud your title!!! In praise of episodic enthusiasm. I have been fully converted. Love it!!
Watch this space! I feel the post forming already…
Just in case anyone is worried about getting older, I am one of those people who said, “When I retire, I’ll write novels.” And I did. I must admit that I had the advantage of a career in commercial journalism and advertising, but on the downside I work slowly, because I am self-indulgent and have the attention span of a chihuahua. After a couple of false starts, I managed in a decade to hammer out and self-publish two novels (better than many, could have been better), and I think I have a couple more in me. It may be true, as Don said, that we remain capable of good work long after some other artists and scientists have flamed out, but rust never sleeps.
Love this so much! And I need to find a similarly endearing term for my wide attention span.
Thank you for this testimonial and humor! Some of us appreciate the more weathered things in life, rust and antiquities included.
In economics we have a saying: “The fox knows many things, while the hedgehog knows one big thing.” Hedgehogs tend to be (in my opinion) dogmatic and single-minded, while foxes are more interdisciplinary and able to make deep and surprising connections between fields. Most departments these days are full of hedgehogs trying to advance their own narrow agenda….we need more fresh takes from people with diverse skills and interesting backgrounds!
Exactly. Those “deep and surprising connections” are where creativity lives, whether in economics or writing!
So true, Caleb! The hedgehogs have value, but we ignore the need for foxes at our peril.
Wonderful essay – and I agree with other commenters on the glorious organization.
I came to writing early – in my teens I wrote an op-ed piece for the local newspaper and received an offer or representation. Heady times. My high school English teacher who encouraged me mightily and also cautioned me. She told me to collect experiences while I was young, because I wouldn’t have much voice worth listening to until I’d aged and mellowed. Sage advice. About that agent? He died when I was in college. Imagine the wake up call to discover it really wasn’t going to be that easy!
I would love to hear the rest of that story. Heady times indeed!
Love this, Kristin! I definitely belong in the Young camp, what some call a “serial committer.” I didn’t start actively writing until my late 30s despite thinking about it as early as middle school. That sometimes frustrates me, but I don’t regret all the things I did instead. I often get bored once I’ve reached a decent level of competency at something, so new experiences and learning new things are paramount. (Not great for my pre-writing resume, though.) One of these days I may even switch which genre I write, but for now, each book is its own new experience with required research and travel to feed my voracious curiosity. Hope you’re having a great time in Egypt!
Gwen, I have had the same experience of achieving enough mastery at various things to lose interest. That’s part of what draws me to writing — it’s always new and challenging. Continuing to learn new things and developing new skills as I write makes it infinitely intriguing. I’d love to know when/if you decide to try out a new genre!
What a wonderful essay. Resonates deeply with this writer, who took her first writing workshop, wrote (and published!) her first short story at age 40. Age 40-47 was a prolific time with much early success- landing an agent, publishing two novels and many short stories — but the financial exigencies of divorce have since slowed my writing down to what feels like an impossible crawl toward an uncertain goal. Approaching 55, I’ve written two more novels since the first two were published but have yet to secure future publication. And a demanding day job leaves me so drained that I’m beginning to accept that a consistent, satisfying writing practice may have to wait until retirement. We’ll see- I’m working to recalibrate. I have other passions, as well, so achieving a balance while feeding the muse is work-in-progress. But I also know there is a depth to my work and my voice that comes only with experience and dedication to craft…
It sounds like you’ve had an amazing journey, Julie! Your description of trying to find balance really resonates with me.
Thank you, Kristin, for a deeply reassuring and (to me) always necessary message, conveyed both in the content and the form of this essay – a brilliant illustration of how, through your many interests and pursuits, you have gathered the threads that now give color and texture to your beautifully woven stories.
Thank you indeed! It’s always a pleasure to read your thoughtful comments, Julia.
Love this! I studied hieroglyphs on my own one summer and it made me appreciate the struggles of my Greek and Latin students more. Donald Maas’ comment also struck me because I remember being in college choosing my path and went with classics because it was a field in which you improve with age rather than topping out. I definitely fall under the mixed enthusiasm field — dead languages (working on Sanskrit with a much easier time than hieroglyphs), baking, swimming, crocheting, biking, hiking, and writing in addition to the daytime vocation of Greek and Latin and teaching.
Wow, Greta! It sounds like we have a lot in common. I have been fascinated by Sanskrit ever since I took a class on early Indian Buddhism in college. And I can relate to almost everything else on your list. I bet your training in classics gives you a very solid foundation for writing. There is so much depth and story to be found there. Thanks for commenting!
I had eight children, birthed over nineteen years, homeschooled for thirty years, and graduated our youngest last spring. I published six nonfiction books between 2015-2021, but now I’m finishing the first draft of my first novel. I LOVE writing fiction—it’s what I read—and feel like I’ve finally found my place (sure hope a publisher will agree). I wasn’t writing fiction all those years, but I piled on plenty of life experience. At an age where others are preparing to retire, I’m just getting started and couldn’t be happier about it.
What a long, twisty road it’s been! I can feel your current happiness radiating from this comment. What a gift!
Love how your essay provokes reflection in us readers.
This one evoked an undergraduate memory. In my research advisor’s office, she says, “You’ll never have as much broad knowledge as you do now. When you go on to your master’s, you’ll focus more narrowly.”
That scared the beejeebers out of me. Because what I heard was…the more you know one thing, the more stupid you will be about other things.
Spent a lot of years in the hybrid world of day-job and nonfiction writing. Now in the Third Act, the passion is for a place and people (Acadia) no matter what form the writing takes. Not to set the world ablaze with my accomplishments but to stoke and feed the fire within.
Thank you Kristen!
Having a goal of stoking the fire within instead of setting the world ablaze — this reflects the wisdom of the Third Act. Thank you for sharing it with us!