“I Want To Be A Writer. There. Happy?”
July 29, 2010
My daughter thinks she might want to be a writer. She’s eight. Whether you bless and curse your kids in equal measure, or Larkin had it right, this was a hard thing to hear.
I suppose in a way I’d always known.
Writing as a career is tough. It doesn’t pay well and it takes discipline. But mostly the first thing.
I wanted to tell her that she needs to love it and to make sure she was following her heart and it wasn’t about the F word that the kids keep talking about. Famous.
I see people on TV every now and then, or in bands, or people who write for newspapers and I mention in passing: “I know him” or “I went to school with her.”
They are usually impressed, until I answer their next question: “So, were YOU ever famous?”
I needed to tell my daughter that you have to want to write because it makes you happy, rather than on the slim chance it will lead to fame or fortune.
“The thing about writing, daughter,” I say, “is that -”
She says: “You can’t press to hard otherwise you break your pencil?”
Me: “Um. Yes, that’s right.”
I nearly add: “Then you’re ready. You’re ready to be a writer.”
I don’t of course, but I wonder if an early shot of rejection might stand her in good stead.
Not too much has been happening with me lately. There hasn’t been tons of creativity from me and water runs slow through flat land.
I’m doing ok though. I’ve been living like a god, actually. By that I mean no one was sure if I existed or not.
I’ve started some therapy for depression. I’ve kind of kept that quiet, but it’s been under the surface for a while.
I could lie to you, or joke around it. I could joke away from it. I could tell you I’ve been working on a hybrid pleasure cruise and pets magazine entitled Motorboat Those Puppies.
Not that I’ve hidden it away or anything, but I keep parts of myself to myself. Secrets, see, are like arseholes – everyone’s got one and they’re seldom pretty.
I am a high-functioning depressive and like asmtha, it’s something I’ll always have. You can acknowledge it and take steps, but you’re somewhat defined by it, although doing your normal every day stuff is the best response. It’s a condition more that an illness. In fact the two are very similar. You’re not sick, but you’d feel better by not having it, thanks.
One thing that always gets me about therapy is that when you down the that route they treat you like you might be suicidal, because they can’t take any risks. The psychological assessors asked me questions that I would answer like: “What??? No!” and then they make a face like it’s standard procedure.
No, I’m doing all right, thanks, but I’m less convinced lately that all right is good enough. I’m worried I’m going to get to 40, or 50, with the kids grown up, only to look back and say: “You know what? I could have been happier.” I can’t let that happen.
8 comments
Just from that conversation, your daughter sounds wonderful.
If you’re being proactive about your depression that you’re almost certainly not going to get to 50 and think that you could have done better and been happier. I’ve told you before about the people in my life who have depression and how it affects them and those around them, and it’s only when they stop trying that they do things they regret – be that taking action or doing nothing.
Finally, you have the best simile in the world in this post. “Secrets are like arseholes” should be the title of a novel.
Thanks Amy.
Woah. Weird timing. I was just coming here before I read your comment to say in the interest of full disclosure that “water runs slow through flat land” is not my phrase.
It’s a translation of the Chickasaw Indian word “yoknapatawtha”. Yoknapatawtha was the name William Faulker gave his mythical county in which he set many of his novels of the American Deep South.
I can claim the arseholes one though.
But funny since you mention it, because Water Runs Slow Through Flat Land is the title of the novel I’m writing.
Can’t you change it to “Secrets Are Like Arseholes”? Or will that not suit the tone of the novel?
It’s set in the early days of online newsrooms. News is often compared to a river, and this fits better. Your suggestion would get more hits in google, though. What do I know. Those who write can’t even teach.
Great post, Cliff. You’re right, “alright” is not good enough. You deserve better and so do those around you. I wish “better” for all of you or as much of “better” as you can feasibly get.
I’m sure you’ll guide and support your daughter in all the right ways. If she’s got half the wit and writing spirit that you have then she’s a good chance…
Jonners is right, you’re one of the best writers I know so if you have genes in your family she’ll do well.
“water runs slow through flat land” reminded me of another phrase someone once used: “still waters run deep”.
when rivers are deep there are no rocks to disturb the surface and people use it to suggest that quiet people often have more complex or passionate character than a cursory examination might suggest.
that one was for free.
Really nice post. Good luck with everything. And your daughter and writing… I’m not sure the ‘want to be’ part realistically comes into it. You do it because it’s part of you and you just have to do it regardless of the rewards.
“Depressed? Just cheer the-fuck up!”
I nearly hooked the bastard that said that to me.
Leave a comment. Play nice. I will turn this blog around.