From Meager Soil

BENJAMIN LEROY

Today’s the day we give the United States a high five and wish it a happy 237th birthday. For some, it’s a celebration of the United States (I keep fighting the urge to say, “America”) declaring its independence and self-determining its way into the future.

I’d like to explore that.

Not the geo-political ramifications of the United States being born, but the importance of independence and self-determination, especially as it relates to you, an author, as you move forward with your literary aspirations.

All details of history grow cloudy with age, but when the Virginia Company and John Smith headed west from England, the plan was to figure out a shortcut to Asia and to grab all the gold and jewels they could along the way. Only the most delusional among the crew and subsequent arrivals could have ignored the dangers inherent to getting into a boat with a loose idea of where they wanted to go, what they wanted to do, and what sort of pay off would come upon completion of the mission. The life they found for themselves in Jamestown was filled with disease, starvation, hostile relations with natives, fear of the Spanish, and the self-doubt that sets in when things go against plan and we ask ourselves—just exactly what the hell am I doing and is it worth it?

A decade later, the Pilgrims showed up at Plymouth Rock. They’d left England, willing to take on the challenges of the sea and life in a new place, not because they thought it would be financially expedient to do so, but because they wanted to express themselves, in this case religiously, in a way that wouldn’t get them trouble with the local authorities in England. To put a fine point on it—it was a matter of self-expression and the need to do so being so great and heavy that it was worth the risk of everything that came with it.

Here we are nearly 400 years later, and you’re thinking about writing a novel. Maybe it’s for the money you hope to receive when it becomes a blockbuster. Maybe it’s because something has been bubbling up inside of you that you must say, and you have to get it out. You’ve likely heard others tell you that the book you want to write sounds crazy, or it’s not what sells today, or somebody else is writing that type of book and they do it better than you could ever hope to.

Set sail, anyway, dear writer. You are the captain of your boat and the master of your journey and when it comes to matters of self-expression and the worlds you create—nobody can take that away from you. Ever.

So here you are, in your new world. Hooray! Here’s a shovel. I’m not saying there won’t be joys and singing, but I am saying that if you want to see your world be sustained, if you want it to survive, you’re going to need to put in a lot of hard work while some of the folk you left behind in the other world are drinking ale and playing cricket.

The self-doubt will be mindcrushingly high on some days. Digging holes in rocky ground is nobody’s idea of fun, and you’ll be digging a lot of holes. But keep mind that it is only after you’ve dug holes that you can plant the fruits of your story, that will sprout plotlines, that will be essential to harvesting the product of your hardwork. You must grab hold of, and take refuge in the sprouts, when you are in the deepest moments of self-doubt. That little flash of green poking out of the Earth is emotional sustenance even if it can’t be swallowed whole.

The time will come when you will be able to show everybody what you’ve grown. And it will be a moment for celebration. A moment for giving thanks, if you will. But remember when you wake up the next morning, the work isn’t done now. There are new tasks and old tasks will need to be repeated and it’s on you to take care of them all.

Maybe nobody will notice the first thing you do. Maybe they’re all working on their own crops and don’t have time or maybe they don’t understand what it is you do or why you do it. Neither of those is your concern. You are the Pilgrim in your own land, and it’s on you to flourish.

As time passes, your recognition might grow. You’ll declare your independence from others, you’ll fight to protect yourself from others, and then one day, after you’ve self-determined enough, you’ll show up to help the other people who once tried holding you back because you understand the pendulum and you feel good about the way you’re going.

To be sure, you will have your detractors. Some of them will make legitimate complaints or have differing opinions about you and the work you’ve done. Others will gripe simply because they have an axe to grind and they hate everybody and they are rock throwers of the highest order.  You can use one set of feedback to better yourself. The other you should ignore, or toss in a spare hole you’ve dug out back.

You might one day be celebrated as the hero, and maybe you will deserve it, but you should never, ever look at yourself as a hero. You should not buy the pronouncements of those in the town square declaring you the greatest, because the time spent patting yourself on the back is time not spent digging the holes that give life to everything. Your fields will grow choked by weeds, the plants you’ve nurtured since the days of rocky soil won’t look as strong and healthy as they once did a few seasons earlier, and when you serve the dinner you’ve made from your garden, you’ll see that some people—the very people who declared your gift—won’t be enthusiastic about what you’ve done and you’ll know, inside your head where it really matters, that you aren’t as enthusiastic about it either, at least not as enthusiastic as you’ve been in the past. If you’re honest with yourself, you’ll know why.

Like countries, there is no such thing as a perfect writer. Writing is a human pursuit, and like all other human pursuits, damned to flaws. You can only try to get better every day. To write a better book each time. And remember that no matter how many great reviews you get and no matter how many people tell you the new book is the best book ever written, you’re still not perfect, and that you must always keep going forward.

A novel has a finish line, writing does not.

May your shovel blade always be sharp and your hands always callused.

 

For more about me, dubious writing advice, and dispatches from obscure American corners, visit my blog www.benjaminleroy.com

Comments

[Roy Innes]

"To thine own self be true..." eh?
I'm waiting for the swelled head phase. Would be nice for a little while anyway.
Enjoyed your post. Well done.