This Ain't for the Best, Why Assume the Worst?
While across the
West Village with aims to see the sunset, a young man and I discussed writing.
I had agreed to
meet up with him mainly because I knew that if he was problematic in any way,
we at least had one thing in common, but I was faintly surprised. He was fun
and intelligent, though a memoirist with little interest in fiction. He was the
sort of writer who sat in awe at the work of others’ prose and announced, “How
can I ever think I’m good enough to be like them?”
If that doesn’t
strike a type with you, bear with me, I’ve been doing this far too long.
During the trek, he
brought up his writers group a few times. I was hesitant. I actually enjoy
writers groups; it’s a great deal of fun for me to talk about writing period.
The problem with it, as I’ve said before, is that when you only have a few
pages to comment on, you’re going to stick with surface-level complaints. These
are more likely to be inconsistent with each other, homogenize your work, and
completely miss the real issues. I often use the example of the scene in which
two people focused on my prose and didn’t catch that a gun had disappeared. The
woman who noticed? Not so oriented around my word choice.
“I sort of need a
bigger picture opinion,” I told him. And
I don’t need any more second guessing about my voice, I did not tell him.
“The people who read it all the way through like it, but getting them there is
difficult.”
He was friendly
enough, and I don’t think he meant anything malicious, but the way he began to
go off sounded a bit like a lecture. Not a useful one, not conveying anything
he’d learned about it, but merely telling me that the beginning is important.
Yep. That was
exactly my point.
I find that this
happens unfortunately frequently too. I speak up about a problem I’m having,
and have had for a while, and if they don’t start erroneously explaining that
it is a problem, they’re arguing with
me that it isn’t. The other day I was discussing an issue with a book and I
spent 20 minutes convincing my conversational partner that it did actually
matter, to which she then gave me an oversimplified answer.
As I was leaving
Brooklyn, I told my friend in excitement how she had to see Guardians of the
Galaxy. I normally rant instead of gush, but something about the film had
really struck me. The fight scenes, majorly I’d say, the images and humor. I’m
normally not a big fan of battle, but something about them caught me as
interesting, and I was easily immersed the whole time.
I want to do something like that, I thought. Like what specifically? I don’t know. But
like that.
I explained to my
friend my sentiments, adding, “I want to write something with an iconic world
like Harry Potter.”
“Well,” she said
meaningfully. “She didn’t try to do
that.”
What’s your point?
“The limitation is
there,” I said. “Regardless of if Rowling came by it naturally, if she just
pissed on paper and gold came out, I obviously can’t do the same. I can either
target my problems and experiment with solutions, or toss my writing at a wall
and hope something comes out of it.” But let’s be honest, I’ve done that. I’ve
written a lot and I’ve yet to see the reaction I desired. Even from myself.
I mentioned to my
roommate a project that I was attempting to get done. Then came the
interrogation.
Why don’t you try
to do something with your writing? Sometimes people do too many things! You
need to pick a passion! You need to try blogging! You need to start small!
No matter what I
said to her, I was wrong.
The fact was, not
only had I had all of the ideas she was coming up with, but I had tried them, worked them, and then,
amazingly, she criticized me for them.
Now all of these
people—and I believe this fully—had my best interest at heart. I don’t think
they were trying to pour salt in the wounds, that they were genuinely
attempting to help.
But they didn’t get
it. They’re still identifying the problem long after you’ve come up with six
unsuccessful solutions. They’re giving you a simple idea that will fix everything of course! Don’t question it!
So you’ve tried it before? Clearly it wasn’t the right answer! Why did you ever
think it could be?
Of course, I don’t
think they’re considering it that much. And there’s a lot of room for
miscommunication. No one contradicts their own ideas that quickly, I don’t care
how oblivious they are. Not to mention many of these people are those who I
respect.
So why were they presuming
the worst of me?
And that’s what it
all comes down to; sometimes, no matter what your actions are, people are going
to assume things about you, and it’s probably going to be the worst case
scenario. Why? It’s easier.
It’s easier, fun
even, to tell someone how to start a career. It’s enjoyable to lecture on the
importance of doing something well. It’s better to tell someone that their
problem is nonexistent than to admit you don’t know how to solve it.
Regardless of
whether or not you’re a writer, regardless of how you handle it, someone
somewhere is going to tell you, whatever you did, you did it wrong. Not a bad
person either. Usually it’ll be the one who is trying to help but doesn’t know
how.
Learn to ask people
to listen instead of dismiss. Learn to say, “I need a sounding board, not a
blanket solution.” Learn to say what you want and stand up for what you do. Or,
at least, that’s what I’m trying to do.
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