Wow: Amazing letter from Joseph Conrad to Edward Garnett.
I sit down religiously every morning, I sit down for eight hours every day–and the sitting down is all. In the course of that working day of 8 hours I write 3 sentences which I erase before leaving the table in despair. There’s not a single word to send you. Not one! And time passes–and McClure waits–not to speak of Eternity for which I don’t care a damn. Of McClure however I am afraid.
To me the phrase “the sitting down is all” REALLY hits home. That’s what Madeleine L’Engle always used to say about writing. If you wait for the muse of inspiration to alight upon your head, you’ll be disappointed. The point is to write every day. The majority of it may end up in the wastepaper basket. The quote from Pasteur about “the prepared mind” seems extremely relevant to me, and something I have experienced myself. How does one get to Carnegie Hall? You know how. But to read Conrad’s agony about not being able to write, wrestling with those demons … so openly … also that his unwritten story literally takes up every bit of space in his brain. He can feel his own brain. Not a very comfortable sensation.
The letter from Conrad seems, in many ways, connected to this quote I posted yesterday from Tennessee Williams.
If you read what real writers say about their process, much of it has to do with the difficulty in actually producing – because you are always up against expectations (from yourself, from others) – or against your own ideals for your art – and how you can’t measure up … whatever it may be. But then comes the glory of breakthrough … and what you write may not be the greatest thing since Canterbury Tales – but there’s nothing like that feeling of actually starting. If you’re a perfectionist, starting is often the most difficult part. So when you do start, it can be a profound moment … because what you are actually doing, and saying to yourself, is: “It’s okay if what I produce isn’t perfect. It is the doing, it is the being in the moment that matters … I can neaten it up and fix and edit later … But for now, just start.”
Having some kind of block does not in any way, shape, or form = lazy. Ridiculous. People who overuse the word “lazy” usually overuse the word “whining” as well, whenever they hear anyone complain about anything. Forget about legitimate complaints, forget about an honest and open struggle with faults and disappointments, forget about being face to face with your own failures and admitting it – all of it is apparently whining. These people would tell Blanche Dubois to stop whining as she’s dragged off in a straitjacket. These people would tell Macbeth to stop being such a whining pussy-boy. These people would tell Gatsby to put a cork in it and “man up, crybaby”. No complaint is legitimate enough for these people to ever complain about.
UPDATE: Just thought of something else. I attended the Inside the Actors Studio seminar with Meryl Streep. She said, when discussing French Lieutenant’s Woman, that there was something about the performance she didn’t like – and she said she felt very “dislocated” when filming it. I think her exact words were, ‘I couldn’t locate myself in that part.” Now. The sycophantic response to her honesty (“Well, I thought you were brilliant!”) upset me – because what do young struggling actors want to hear from people like Meryl Streep? About her struggles!! I would have loved to hear Meryl Streep elaborate on what it was she felt she “missed” in that performance. Whether or not I agree with her about the RESULT is completely irrelevant. She told a very funny story about filming Dancing at Lughnasa and having such a tough time getting the accent right that she became convinced at, circa 11 pm at night, that she could no longer act. She had “lost it”. She informed her husband, “I can’t act anymore. I am through.” Multiple Oscar winner. She knew her cast members were all down at the bar, so she left her husband in the hotel room, and went to join the cast. The cast hadn’t “bonded” yet, Streep was the big glittery world-famous American movie star, she wasn’t a big drinker, stuff like that … so talk at the bar was stilted at first – until Meryl finally burst out, “I have forgotten how to act. I have no idea how to do this accent. I am a terrible actress.” and all of her cast members EXPLODED: “We were just talking about that! We feel the same way!!! We are the worst actors ever born!” Of course it all turned out all right in the end, and they all mastered the accent, etc. but without Streep admitting the struggle, that she is still, even as a big major star, “in process” – she might not have gotten there. I loved that – and I felt that not dwelling on those human moments of doubt and struggle did all of us a disservice.
I suppose some folks would say that Meryl Streep was “whining”.
So you can count me as a “whiner” too, if that means I am open about my struggles. I’m proud of it. I figure with folks like Joseph Conrad, Tennessee Williams and Madeleine L’Engle, I’m in good company.
I love, too, this part from Conrad’s letter:
There! I’ve told you all and feel better. While I write this I am amazed to see that I can write. It looks as though the spell were broken but I hasten, I hasten lest it should in five minutes or in half an hour be laid again.
The magical spell! Even just writing a letter means that you haven’t “lost it” entirely!
And more letters from Joseph Conrad here.
Great post.
I like the thinkers who take the mysticism out of creating art. The brain is just like any other tool, like a sewing machine, or a pencil, or a chainsaw. We need to use it over and over and over again to understand what it can, and cannot do, and how to control what it can do and how to balance its strengths against its weaknesses so that when the thing of beauty comes into our lives we can execute it as perfectly as our tool allows us.
I really like this blog. Thanks for all the posts.
I love that Meryl Streep story. The fact that she shared it is a total gift.
Tracey – isn’t it great? I love how the cast members (all excellent actors as well) were kind of holding back on the complaining once Streep showed up – but once Streep admitted her own struggles, it was like the floodgates opened.
ha!!
Deirdre – thanks so much – glad you like!
I love it when artists too talk about the nuts and bolts of their process. It’s very cool … it’s very freeing, I think.
There’s something about the charge of “whining” that irks me, too. Especially when it’s applied to the kind of reflection that leans towards self-improvement. Don’t tell me to buck up and take it like a man. Life isn’t a sport. I’m a human being and I’m going to act like one. There’s an element to creativity that feeds off of that kind of attitude and openness. I need it for myself and appreciate it when it comes from others.
Upon experiencing extreme frustration some years back attempting to “Journal” daily, a friend gave me some of the best advice I’ve ever been given. He said simply to “write it”. When I complained that “that” was the problem and I didn’t know “what” to write, he told me “well, then write “I don’t know what to write””
I may be a little slow but those simple words have helped emmensly over the years. The mere action of putting pen to paper is often the needed catalyst. ( I wont even mention how many journal entries now begin with the date and first sentence reading… “I really don’t know what to write today but…”
Mark – yes!! Great point! It’s akin to brushing away cobwebs, it really is.
Emily – I will always believe, from the vicious responses I’ve gotten to my most open posts, that a BUTTON is being pushed in these people … That may seem condescending, but whatever, they think I’m a whiny snot anyway … When I admit I’m not perfect, their kneejerk response is to shout, “DAMN STRAIGHT YOU’RE NOT” without ever reflecting that their viciousness reflects only on them. I think there’s a blindness there. That’s why it’s the road less traveled. And I’ll be damned if I’ll let those people shame me into silence … I was writing FOR them for a while … I’d pepper posts with “I know it sounds self-pitying but …” But that’s bad writing. No great writing ever had crap like that in it. At least not compulsively.
The weirdest one I got was on my “anecdotal review” of Fearless – which was part of a group blog-project – basically to review a film wihtout ever naming the film – to just tell a story from your life that somehow says that film to you. So I wrote a piece, and I knew it was a risk (I mean, my parents read my blog! – but I have to be free here and write the truth as I see it), and I took that risk – and true to form, some person – who has never commented before – left this comment: “You dumb stupid c***.”
!!!!
So weird – my friend David was baffled by it – “what the hell was happening in that person as he read that post??”
I have a ton of theories – one being that my openness was an affront to him – but that’s not really the word. He obviously was threatened – otherwise why would he break out the “c” word to a woman he had never met? I felt a threat in that response – nothing else, not anger, or contempt – but fear. It was so weird, so out of the blue – and yeah, I took it personally – I open up and I’m called a “stupid c***” by some stranger. It’s good to get a thick skin.
But I’m still interested in his response – in a kind of anthropological way. He was moved to respond to that post. I am convinced he was a long-time lurker, someone who had been hanging out and reading me forever … and finally decided to lash out at whatever it was in me that so irritated and threatened him. I get that a lot – but that was the most blatant example.
Man, I’m sorry you got that weird comment (but I’m glad you know it had nothing to do with you).
This post totally made me think of the group project experience I just had for a class this quarter. The instructor set up a discussion board just for us (she would not view it) and among four of us we hit over 240 comments during the course of about five weeks. A good proportion of them were project-related, but there was definitely this moment, after the professor dinged us on a submission, that we just “lost it” and had a major group gripe session. We discovered we all had arrived at the program via non-traditional routes. Then we were able to pick ourselves up so we could tackle our mistakes and the next section. It was the best group experience I ever had (and as a strongly introverted, independent worker, I usually hate group work). I think we were well matched, and maybe we will be able to keep in touch in the future.
First time visitor. I enjoy what I read. I enjoy the flow of your thoughts into and mingling with my own. What a magical process it is. Thank you for your writing. It touches me.
I admit to an inward breath of envy with your post of meeting, seeing, hearing, and learning from Merryl Streep. Then the envy turned quickly to gratitude for sharing the story of her night in the bar with the cast. It is a good story because it holds a lesson for us.
There do exist others however. Others who protect their secrets and do not wish to share. I find them frightening, and most of the time pretend they do not exist. I bond with the people who believe in the strength of transparency. You may be one.
Thank you.
Catherine