PS: Teaching.... it's a really important job, don't diss it. Teaching, healthcare, food... and arts for the dreaming.... They are core jobs... I'm really not sure we need more hedge-fund managers, insurance brokers, etc... (not even sure about writers, except to chronicle the progress of our collective dementia)
Yeah, I was just joking about "phoney baloney job." I know that's how some people see it, but, in truth, it's a vocation for me as powerful as writing.
Wonderful meandering meditation on why write. And food for thought.
I asked myself that question for decades. And I wonder about it to this day. Whenever I wanted to stop and do something else, tend to my garden, learn Beethoven's 32nd sonata, walk from Munich to Venice over the Alps, I always thought of the activities in terms of paragraphs and words. So I write every day, keep a diary... Two websites and a Substack page (free of charge!)... all pretty orphaned, because, while there is so much to write about, there are hardly any mysteries anymore thanks to the Internet. I have 15 print editions of Wristwatch Annual on the market (16th is starting now), I got into wristwatches because I like writing about things. Also a bunch of travel guides, some under an alias, I hope to finish a biography and a few pieces that I can't get out of my head....
Sometimes, though, I think it is just a vain attempt to leave even the tiniest mark, like a cat peeing on a curtain to just say: "I was here"... for a short while.
My answer to the question is you secretly have a devilish wish to have people sent all day being entertained by your writing. Measured by that, dry writing would probably fail. Who want to learn about the Wii U expresso Chip after all? Sound dry unlike, say, Gone with the Wind.
I enjoyed this essay very much, Tom! It provides a nice counterpart to Samuel Johnson’s bon mot that “No man but a blockhead ever wrote, except for money.”
We blockheads know that writing, whether for pay or for free (like me) is a great way to connect with readers, keep our minds sharp, and, yes, express ourselves.
My friend, Martin Nakell (the author of 18 books—fiction & poetry; the winner of numerous grants & awards (NEA, Gertrude Stein, Fine Arts Work Center, et al)), was very reassuring once. He said, writing CANNOT be taught. When I read his work, I was like, Yeh! You are correct!
If I were a student thinking about taking your class, and I read this piece, I'd probably look elsewhere. It sounds like you are in a club you don't like very much and whose dues are soul crushing. You're juggling two balls, one labeled "job security," and the other labeled "I hate my life." You might argue that hate is too strong a word, but isn't that essentially what you're saying? How can you write in this environment? Your club of English departments and tenured professors is a kind of prison, and you are a voluntary inmate. In this frame of mind, how can you electrify your students?
I actually read this piece very differently. To me, the strength of the author’s writing is that it’s sober and honest about the tension every artist or professional faces: the desire to create vs. the realities of institutions, expectations, and one's own limitations.
If I’m a student, I’d rather learn from someone who has confronted those challenges head-on and can show how to keep writing anyway, how to find meaning in your work even when the system that supports your writing feels constraining.
Why write, why create? It's in our DNA; we have to do it. The earliest humans turned their spare time to creating stuff and telling stories. We still do that. Not everyday will result in a wedding cake; some days the best we can do is a pancake. God had trouble with his creations as well, so we shouldn't worry too much when ours give us trouble. I really appreciated your essay in Quillette and think you should have raised your hand. At the risk of offending you again, I'll say that, for me, today's piece was a bit of a pancake, but your Quillette essay was a very good chocolate cake, and I would have another piece.
You're free not to enjoy everything I write, of course. It would be odd if you did. What I don't appreciate is the personal attack and the kind of poisonous suggestions about my teaching. Makes me wonder why you write. . . .
I also don't think you read the essay with much imagination. I was not saying "I hate my life." I was saying I’m disappointed with my writing career, given my early aspirations, and that is a challenge, but that I continue to write despite a lack of incentive and even some disincentive (such as writing for Substack vis-à-vis my employer).
One of my motivations for writing--and writing the way I do--is to model honesty and the writing life. The writing life for the vast, vast majority of writers is non-remunerative, but many of us had fantasies of fame and fortune, and we have to deal with the failure of those dreams--and keep on writing if we are the type that feels the need to.
I tried to discuss this, moreover, with a sense of humor, albeit a dark one, to suggest that some of my reactions are disproportionate.
As for my teaching, I do my best. I've had many students who valued me as a professor, who followed me from one class to the next. One or two of them are on Substack. I've also had some who experienced me more as a pancake than a chocolate cake--or worse than that, as some kind of dry biscuit they had to force down. But that's life. That's teaching. No teacher is universally loved. I do what I can. Students sometimes criticize me, but I don't ever recall a student reporting that I lacked enthusiasm for my subject or that I discouraged the writing life.
As a teacher, in my darker moments, I sometimes see myself like Rocky's coach, Mickey, a bit beaten down but devoted to bringing out the best in my athletes (writers). But, really, I don't think I come across that way to them. I generally convey enthusiasm for the art of writing and for the literary life.
I am very sorry that my original comment read as a personal attack. I didn't intend it that way, but on re-reading my words I can see how they had that impact. I was giving my honest response to what you wrote, but in hindsight my words were too blunt and not constructive. I am sorry and appreciate your response.
While I'm not a writer, I've been engaged in other creative arts and completely understand the existential questions around remuneration. It's the same for most creatives who are engaged with something whose value is primarily in nourishing the spirit - music, art, writing, performing arts, etc. Most are paid very little, if at all. The only thing that keeps them going is their intrinsic love for the art form (and, often, another job).
It seems that ever since Adam and Eve were expelled from the garden, earning a living has been a hard business. I can't really think of any example where that's not the case. Ancient humans evolved the arts in the evenings, around the campfire, after the day's survival needs had been met. That's one way to think about it.
Thanks. I appreciate the thoughts. Here’s a poem. You might enjoy not mine. WB Yeats. It’s called Adam‘s curse, and I teach at the first day of class every semester when I teach introduction to create a writing.
What an interesting question. I teach my economics and finance students that writing is thinking, and it is the most demanding and difficult thinking we ever do. Someone said this: writing is crystalized thinking. If these ideas are something like true, then I write because I think, and for some strange reason, I imagine that someone aside from me wants to know what I think. Yes, of course that notion is mostly delusional.
Interestingly enough, I also published a book in 2012. I've read it tens of times. Sometimes I have thought that what I wrote is fabulous; other times I have thought what I wrote is not worth another's eyes and mind. George Orwell is one thing. Writers like me are quite another.
I've had almost *nothing* published professionally!
Anyway, why do I write?
1) Probably all of Orwell's reasons, but also because
2) writing is the only thing (except for my family) that I haven't messed up or failed at but mostly because
3) I can't not write. It's physically painful to have all these thoughts in my head without letting some of them out. I suppose some people would *have conversations* but I'm bad at that and, even with my wife, what I manage to say is so much worse than what I can write that there doesn't seem to be much point, from a strictly information-release point of view.
PS: Teaching.... it's a really important job, don't diss it. Teaching, healthcare, food... and arts for the dreaming.... They are core jobs... I'm really not sure we need more hedge-fund managers, insurance brokers, etc... (not even sure about writers, except to chronicle the progress of our collective dementia)
Yeah, I was just joking about "phoney baloney job." I know that's how some people see it, but, in truth, it's a vocation for me as powerful as writing.
Hi Thomas:
Wonderful meandering meditation on why write. And food for thought.
I asked myself that question for decades. And I wonder about it to this day. Whenever I wanted to stop and do something else, tend to my garden, learn Beethoven's 32nd sonata, walk from Munich to Venice over the Alps, I always thought of the activities in terms of paragraphs and words. So I write every day, keep a diary... Two websites and a Substack page (free of charge!)... all pretty orphaned, because, while there is so much to write about, there are hardly any mysteries anymore thanks to the Internet. I have 15 print editions of Wristwatch Annual on the market (16th is starting now), I got into wristwatches because I like writing about things. Also a bunch of travel guides, some under an alias, I hope to finish a biography and a few pieces that I can't get out of my head....
Sometimes, though, I think it is just a vain attempt to leave even the tiniest mark, like a cat peeing on a curtain to just say: "I was here"... for a short while.
Love it, marking your territory.
My answer to the question is you secretly have a devilish wish to have people sent all day being entertained by your writing. Measured by that, dry writing would probably fail. Who want to learn about the Wii U expresso Chip after all? Sound dry unlike, say, Gone with the Wind.
I enjoyed this essay very much, Tom! It provides a nice counterpart to Samuel Johnson’s bon mot that “No man but a blockhead ever wrote, except for money.”
We blockheads know that writing, whether for pay or for free (like me) is a great way to connect with readers, keep our minds sharp, and, yes, express ourselves.
Whatever your reasons, I’m glad you write!
I can’t not write. I suspect that you feel similarly even though that’s not how you frame your piece.
https://open.substack.com/pub/hollymathnerd/p/the-bet-i-lost?r=cfmbf&utm_medium=ios
Have you seen this? Holly Math Nerd on how she feels that she pours herself into her drawing in a way she doesn’t with her writing.
Thought provoking.
Yes, I had actually thought of mentioning that.
My friend, Martin Nakell (the author of 18 books—fiction & poetry; the winner of numerous grants & awards (NEA, Gertrude Stein, Fine Arts Work Center, et al)), was very reassuring once. He said, writing CANNOT be taught. When I read his work, I was like, Yeh! You are correct!
Like the part about not having enough attention from the parents :-)
If I were a student thinking about taking your class, and I read this piece, I'd probably look elsewhere. It sounds like you are in a club you don't like very much and whose dues are soul crushing. You're juggling two balls, one labeled "job security," and the other labeled "I hate my life." You might argue that hate is too strong a word, but isn't that essentially what you're saying? How can you write in this environment? Your club of English departments and tenured professors is a kind of prison, and you are a voluntary inmate. In this frame of mind, how can you electrify your students?
I actually read this piece very differently. To me, the strength of the author’s writing is that it’s sober and honest about the tension every artist or professional faces: the desire to create vs. the realities of institutions, expectations, and one's own limitations.
If I’m a student, I’d rather learn from someone who has confronted those challenges head-on and can show how to keep writing anyway, how to find meaning in your work even when the system that supports your writing feels constraining.
What a breath of sunshine you brought to the conversation.
Why write, why create? It's in our DNA; we have to do it. The earliest humans turned their spare time to creating stuff and telling stories. We still do that. Not everyday will result in a wedding cake; some days the best we can do is a pancake. God had trouble with his creations as well, so we shouldn't worry too much when ours give us trouble. I really appreciated your essay in Quillette and think you should have raised your hand. At the risk of offending you again, I'll say that, for me, today's piece was a bit of a pancake, but your Quillette essay was a very good chocolate cake, and I would have another piece.
You're free not to enjoy everything I write, of course. It would be odd if you did. What I don't appreciate is the personal attack and the kind of poisonous suggestions about my teaching. Makes me wonder why you write. . . .
I also don't think you read the essay with much imagination. I was not saying "I hate my life." I was saying I’m disappointed with my writing career, given my early aspirations, and that is a challenge, but that I continue to write despite a lack of incentive and even some disincentive (such as writing for Substack vis-à-vis my employer).
One of my motivations for writing--and writing the way I do--is to model honesty and the writing life. The writing life for the vast, vast majority of writers is non-remunerative, but many of us had fantasies of fame and fortune, and we have to deal with the failure of those dreams--and keep on writing if we are the type that feels the need to.
I tried to discuss this, moreover, with a sense of humor, albeit a dark one, to suggest that some of my reactions are disproportionate.
As for my teaching, I do my best. I've had many students who valued me as a professor, who followed me from one class to the next. One or two of them are on Substack. I've also had some who experienced me more as a pancake than a chocolate cake--or worse than that, as some kind of dry biscuit they had to force down. But that's life. That's teaching. No teacher is universally loved. I do what I can. Students sometimes criticize me, but I don't ever recall a student reporting that I lacked enthusiasm for my subject or that I discouraged the writing life.
As a teacher, in my darker moments, I sometimes see myself like Rocky's coach, Mickey, a bit beaten down but devoted to bringing out the best in my athletes (writers). But, really, I don't think I come across that way to them. I generally convey enthusiasm for the art of writing and for the literary life.
I am very sorry that my original comment read as a personal attack. I didn't intend it that way, but on re-reading my words I can see how they had that impact. I was giving my honest response to what you wrote, but in hindsight my words were too blunt and not constructive. I am sorry and appreciate your response.
While I'm not a writer, I've been engaged in other creative arts and completely understand the existential questions around remuneration. It's the same for most creatives who are engaged with something whose value is primarily in nourishing the spirit - music, art, writing, performing arts, etc. Most are paid very little, if at all. The only thing that keeps them going is their intrinsic love for the art form (and, often, another job).
It seems that ever since Adam and Eve were expelled from the garden, earning a living has been a hard business. I can't really think of any example where that's not the case. Ancient humans evolved the arts in the evenings, around the campfire, after the day's survival needs had been met. That's one way to think about it.
Thanks. I appreciate the thoughts. Here’s a poem. You might enjoy not mine. WB Yeats. It’s called Adam‘s curse, and I teach at the first day of class every semester when I teach introduction to create a writing.
We sat together at one summer’s end,
That beautiful mild woman, your close friend,
And you and I, and talked of poetry.
I said, ‘A line will take us hours maybe;
Yet if it does not seem a moment’s thought,
Our stitching and unstitching has been naught.
Better go down upon your marrow-bones
And scrub a kitchen pavement, or break stones
Like an old pauper, in all kinds of weather;
For to articulate sweet sounds together
Is to work harder than all these, and yet
Be thought an idler by the noisy set
Of bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen
The martyrs call the world.’
And thereupon
That beautiful mild woman for whose sake
There’s many a one shall find out all heartache
On finding that her voice is sweet and low
Replied, ‘To be born woman is to know—
Although they do not talk of it at school—
That we must labour to be beautiful.’
I said, ‘It’s certain there is no fine thing
Since Adam’s fall but needs much labouring.
There have been lovers who thought love should be
So much compounded of high courtesy
That they would sigh and quote with learned looks
Precedents out of beautiful old books;
Yet now it seems an idle trade enough.’
We sat grown quiet at the name of love;
We saw the last embers of daylight die,
And in the trembling blue-green of the sky
A moon, worn as if it had been a shell
Washed by time’s waters as they rose and fell
About the stars and broke in days and years.
I had a thought for no one’s but your ears:
That you were beautiful, and that I strove
To love you in the old high way of love;
That it had all seemed happy, and yet we’d grown
As weary-hearted as that hollow moon.
Awesome, that says it all...those words made my heart hurt a little. Thank you. I think I'd like your class.
What an interesting question. I teach my economics and finance students that writing is thinking, and it is the most demanding and difficult thinking we ever do. Someone said this: writing is crystalized thinking. If these ideas are something like true, then I write because I think, and for some strange reason, I imagine that someone aside from me wants to know what I think. Yes, of course that notion is mostly delusional.
Interestingly enough, I also published a book in 2012. I've read it tens of times. Sometimes I have thought that what I wrote is fabulous; other times I have thought what I wrote is not worth another's eyes and mind. George Orwell is one thing. Writers like me are quite another.
I write because I feel I have what to teach people and I like the dopamine rush of their reactions
I've had almost *nothing* published professionally!
Anyway, why do I write?
1) Probably all of Orwell's reasons, but also because
2) writing is the only thing (except for my family) that I haven't messed up or failed at but mostly because
3) I can't not write. It's physically painful to have all these thoughts in my head without letting some of them out. I suppose some people would *have conversations* but I'm bad at that and, even with my wife, what I manage to say is so much worse than what I can write that there doesn't seem to be much point, from a strictly information-release point of view.
I’m curious to know how you are at conversations with ChatGPT
I don't really use AI much and when I do, I don't have long conversations.
There's a story about some writer who was asked by someone, “should I be a writer," and the writer said something like, "Only if you can't not write."
Well, that's reassuring!
"I write because I want to make other people feel the way I felt when I first read writing that I love." I hope you gave that student an "A."
Your personal history would make a good story. Mix it in with fictional parts, as Junot Díaz has done.
I guess that's autofiction.