The Curse of Getting Better

When I was in fourth grade I was convinced I would be an author. I wrote stories. That’s what authors did. I had no thoughts to the difficulty or pragmatism of such a pursuit. In fact, as a fourth grader, I collected stories from my friends, and was fairly certain the anthology would be published.

I carried with me the certainty that I would write books for a couple of more years, until 6th grade, when I decided I would be a journalist. That’s laughable, now. Though I did write for the school paper when I was in high school (I covered the 2-8 football team and interviewed the coach, who was also my Biology teacher,) I never really thought I would go into journalism. I’m glad that I didn’t, given the state of journalism today. This is not to denigrate the journalists, because there are quite a good number of good  journalists, but the industry in general, which has become a mouthpiece for whatever corporation owns it.

In high school I became passionate about teaching, and so that seemed like a very real and attainable path. It was very structured:

1. Go to college.
2. Student-teach.
3. Get a job.

That’s pretty much how it worked out for me, too. My focus on teaching didn’t really seem to leave space for writing, and I kind of gave up on it. It was something I thought I would do as a child, but I was an adult now.

Of course, that dream is very much alive now, given that I am in a creative writing program. So far, the experience has reminded me of the time I tried to take up golf.

I played golf for the first time when I was in high school. I was terrible at it, as one might expect. I was so terrible, in fact, that it didn’t even bother me that I was terrible. I assumed I would slice the ball into the trees (and most of the time I was right!) so it never troubled me when I did. I assumed I would lose a lot of golf balls, so I bought them in bulk at garage sales. Range balls? Who cares? Golf was kind of fun; I was out doing something different, and the weather was usually agreeable.

Then, during one summer in college, I decided to play a lot. There was a public golf course near me that was pretty inexpensive. I played almost every day. I had nothing better to do. I started to get better. The ball would go straight a lot of the time. Sometimes it only took me two or three tries to putt the ball in, and occasionally I would make par on a hole.

That’s when the trouble started. I got used to being somewhat competent, so when my ball would slice into the woods I no longer laughed it off. I got angry. Unreasonably angry, really. It wasn’t fun anymore. After a while, I just stopped playing.

When I got accepted into my creative writing program, I truly felt as though a mistake had been made. I went to the first lectures and felt a little bit out of my depth, especially as writing jargon was spewed and everyone (but me) nodded their heads and seemed to know what it meant. However, I was able to easily write the first assignment packet, because I didn’t know any better. You want forty pages? How about sixty? I didn’t really know what I was doing, so all I did was write.

Then I got some feedback, and a whole bunch of learnin’ took place. I had a lot of work to do. As I grew more aware of the pitfalls one can make when writing, I worked harder to avoid them. I thought more about my characters, and what they were doing. It turned out to be a lot more work. Unlike golf, though, I didn’t get angry. Defeated? Yes. Overwhelmed? A little. But never angry. Though I ran into problems with my writing, I didn’t mind putting the work in to solving them. And I got a lot of help from my advisors and peers. So unlike golf, I wasn’t going it alone.

I am finishing up my second semester, which I will refer to as the Revising Semester. I’ve been revising the same four or five pieces every time. And every time the revisions have been pretty significant. This has not been the magical creative muse-fairies sprinkling writing dust semester. It has been the hard labor semester. Why is this so? Because I’m getting better. Because I know that I can’t leave some of the writing to stand as it is. It all needs to get better, and that takes work. So it’s a bit of a curse, this getting better business.

But, the work has been rewarding. I’ve experienced the mythical “breakthrough” a couple of times. But some stories need more than one breakthrough, so I keep plugging away.

Though I haven’t swung a golf club in a couple of years.

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