It was at the beginning of my senior year of high school, after I had already sent out about 50 manuscripts to various magazines, sci-fi and horror at that time, it was about that time that I realized I was a pretty lousy writer. That may be a bit harsh, after all I was still in high school, dealing with various high school things—my physical awkwardness, lack of cash, and anxieties about whether I would go to college or spend a life of destituteness on the streets. But I find, when magazine editors read stories they have an uncanny way of ignoring these obstacles even when they are put on a cover, where let`s face it they have no business. Anyway, to get back to the point, I was a lousy writer. So I did something extremely mature, for me at that age anyway, I stopped, put my pen down and went to the library to read some books on writing—including a book called aptly enough, On Writing Well, by William Zinnser. I read it, carefully, slowly, right along with my college applications, giving up my ambigitions of early publication—and the fame and glory that that would lead to.
It was at this same time, that I started working at a call center. Yep, that summer, I had started a rather intresting and brutal routine of going to football practice getting beat up, reading books about writing (sometime very pedantic books) and then going to my job in a call center. From these three jobs, I learned three things that would come in handy both in my normal life and in my off hours as hack writer: one, no body ever gives you anything you don`t take for yourself, and sometime in trying for something you just get the snot beat out of you (as a 165 pound linebacker, you learn that rather quickly); the second, from my call center job, where I was soliciting campaign donations, I learned about politics, and that for those who wanted something, it was usually done the hard way, one intrusive call at a time, one knock on the door—both of the lessons, one by way of hard hits the other by way of dead phone signals were lessons in humility, but also a testament to the awesome power of getting up, brushing off and starting again.
The other, third lesson, the one learned in between the phone calls and the hard hits, was no less useful: the need to go back to your routes. Right after I finished the Lexical Funk, I was searching through my books, and I stumbled upon a book. The book was called Style: Ten Lessons in Clarity. I thought back immediately to that summer where I had stopped, humbled myself, and refocused on improving my craft. And that`s what I`ve been doing ever since, stopping, getting off my high horse and refocusing on craft.
This book isn`t perfect, I realize that. It may not be as bad as the stuff that made up the bottom of magazine slush piles when I was in high school, but I`m sure when I read it two years down the line, it will justify my decision to stop and refocus on craft. As the author of the book Style, Joseph Williams, says "Perfection is an admirable goal, but it is the enemy of done" (p. 12).
But I can`t say I`m done yet—because after four years of joyful toil on my laptop—there are still the intrusive knocks on doors, phone calls, emails, and yes, this annoying speech as well.
It was at this same time, that I started working at a call center. Yep, that summer, I had started a rather intresting and brutal routine of going to football practice getting beat up, reading books about writing (sometime very pedantic books) and then going to my job in a call center. From these three jobs, I learned three things that would come in handy both in my normal life and in my off hours as hack writer: one, no body ever gives you anything you don`t take for yourself, and sometime in trying for something you just get the snot beat out of you (as a 165 pound linebacker, you learn that rather quickly); the second, from my call center job, where I was soliciting campaign donations, I learned about politics, and that for those who wanted something, it was usually done the hard way, one intrusive call at a time, one knock on the door—both of the lessons, one by way of hard hits the other by way of dead phone signals were lessons in humility, but also a testament to the awesome power of getting up, brushing off and starting again.
The other, third lesson, the one learned in between the phone calls and the hard hits, was no less useful: the need to go back to your routes. Right after I finished the Lexical Funk, I was searching through my books, and I stumbled upon a book. The book was called Style: Ten Lessons in Clarity. I thought back immediately to that summer where I had stopped, humbled myself, and refocused on improving my craft. And that`s what I`ve been doing ever since, stopping, getting off my high horse and refocusing on craft.
This book isn`t perfect, I realize that. It may not be as bad as the stuff that made up the bottom of magazine slush piles when I was in high school, but I`m sure when I read it two years down the line, it will justify my decision to stop and refocus on craft. As the author of the book Style, Joseph Williams, says "Perfection is an admirable goal, but it is the enemy of done" (p. 12).
But I can`t say I`m done yet—because after four years of joyful toil on my laptop—there are still the intrusive knocks on doors, phone calls, emails, and yes, this annoying speech as well.