the enchanted 15: progress

"Cicero, the prince of Roman orators says of someone that 'He never uttered a word which he would wish to recall.' High praise indeed! -- but more applicable to a complete ass than to a genuinely wise man . . . . If God permit me, I shall gather and point out, in a work specially devoted to this purpose, all the things which justly displease me in my books: then men will see that I am far from being a biased judge in my own case. . . . For I am the sort of man who writes because he has made progress, and who makes progress -- by writing." -St. Augustine

One of the things about academic writing--besides, how it pays in pittances and free subscriptions, which, once earned, means a total of twelve people are reading your work, including yourself--is that it is SLOW.  For instance, I had a piece published last year that first began in 1998 and was accepted for publication in 2006 and did not actually see print until 2008.  That was an unusually exaggerated case, but makes the point well, I think.  

I'm honest here.  My goal is to inspire a sort of romantic optimism in you--about writing yes, but about life in general.  And I am blessed that, on most days, with a few glaring exceptions that almost always end up proving the rule, this is generally how I feel about life.  But though I hope to infect you with that romantic optimsm I think it is best done with the truth than with a painted over version of it.  So the truth is that I often find being a writer excruciating.  

It is revealing.  You can think of yourself as intelligent, insightful, and talented or extraordinary, dilligent, and gifted all you want--when the words meet the page all you have at the end of the day, is an essay or a book or a script.  And all that essay really shows us that you have dull spots, unimaginative spots, banal spots.  That your writing, in places, is below average, poorly thought-out, lazy, and rather ill-conceived.  That the misplaced apostrophe, the typos, the over-used em-dash,and the wrong homophone just reveals you for the fraud you are.  

Once you get to the point of publication, then this testament to your unworthiness is out there, and, until you publish the next piece, it is all that remains out there in the void, representing your writing, and representing you. 

This is excruciating.  In academic publishing, especially, it is nearly unbearable to me that the best examples of my writing in print are 10 years old.  And the process of getting newer work out there, work that is sharper, more well-thought-out, and written with more clarity and style, is, as I've already emphasized, unbelievably slow.  Occasionally, I get phone calls requesting that older writing be reprinted in other formats, and, of course, I accept.  But inwardly I cringe.  

But see, this is the thought that keeps me going:  I'm not done yet.  

For any individual piece you eventually have to find the stopping point.  I'm reaching a crucial period in my dissertation, for instance, where I have to write and forget about it being the best and just worry about it being good enough.  For, as my advisor recommended, don't worry about it being a BOOK just yet.  It will be a book.  The dissertation is just a first draft of it.  You don't have to have everything in there, yet.

A writer can't know when and where her best work will come.  So, for me, I always have to believe that what I am writing now, is just a step toward the best I have to offer. A developmental stage in my writing.   It's what takes the pressure of the now and puts the hope in the future.  It is exactly as St. Augustine said so many years ago.  I write because I make progress.  And I make progress by writing.  

For me, I always have to believe the best is yet to come.  

Comments

[Lindsay]

This post reminds me of Someone Like You by Van Morrison - proof that your writing here does inspire a romantic optimism about life in general. Love the E 15!

[Jen Pierce]

Thanks Lindsay! Thanks for reading and for leaving your compliments.