The novelist Haruki Murakami was part of a creativity column in the New York Times. He was not mentioned for any literary feat, although this author of the fantastic love story 1Q84 is highly regarded. His journey to success considered a good question: Why would he do something like writing that regularly makes him miserable?
You might be wondering about that yourself, on the days when the words don’t come easily. The Times columnist David Brooks admits he’s written 1,200 words a day for 40 years, disliking the act most of the time.
Murakami was watching a ballgame when he first pondered a life as a writer. “You know what? I could try writing a novel.” It figures that writing a novel is something that Brooks thinks of as an adventure. It surely is a journey, and at times an adventure when I hold my breath awaiting results. I spent $100 on a one-day email ad to promote Sins of Liberty. The early results were two ebooks sold for $1.40 of net returns, considering the 80 percent discounted price. Seems safe to say that $100 may not be an adequate number to move the needle of curiosity about me, a fledgling novelist.
Not that I’m really that kind of novelist. I did finish one more than 13 years ago. By the time we were setting it up in type for publishing, it was December of 2011. Creating and publishing a book is taking on a challenge. Brooks says that’s good for our souls.
“I have found that paradoxically life goes more smoothly when you take on difficulties rather than try to avoid them,” he wrote. “People are more tranquil when they are heading somewhere, when they have brought their lives to a point, going in one direction toward an important goal.” That goal: Staying entranced and curious.
This was true as I turned 68, four years older than any man named Seybold had ever lived. I took all of those four years, plus a couple more, and used them to write a big novel. I’ll not go down that long of a road again, but it wasn’t my last book, not at all.
Writing to perform
I took up the traces of writing because it was the next step of performing. As if my acting was just a glimmer of light, but my writing could be the sun. My cousin just bought a copy of my oldest book, one that cost me $5.35 to print in 2012 and now costs an extra $2.65 to send to the distribution warehouse. With that purchase, Viral Times lives on, full of the inspirations of real people like my director Eryk who died of AIDS — all while the book pushes away from the sharp knives of religion and leans into the mystery of life amid an STD pandemic. It’s all in my debut book that was too saucy for any agent who I queried.
Asking for something difficult defines us. People come in two varieties, Brooks says.
“They live their life under pressure, so their head is down; they’re not open to delight, or open to that moment of rapture that can redirect a life. Others have a certain receptivity to them.” That’s one sort.
Or instead, “They are able to hear that still, soft voice inside: ‘Maybe I could write a novel.’ They are sensitive, impressionable, enthusiastic, absorbent, hospitable. They are open to being surprised, and when that constructive disorientation happens, they stop and contemplate: What am I being called upon to do here?”
Here’s to hearing the soft, still voice. I tallied my take from that ad, then went outside to enjoy the early day’s weather on two wheels, cycling before I went to my doctor. Three years earlier, I started my journey toward wiping out my prostate cancer. Funny how the universe arranged that day’s appointment on that anniversary. Maybe not so funny, since I chose to see the connection. Choices make for art; that’s what the book and film Wonder Boys is all about. It answers the question, “Why were you writing that book?” Take some risks and make a few choices this week.
