No Greatness Here.

Someone asked me today if I thought I really had what it takes to be a great writer. I assume they were speaking in a moment of crippling self-doubt about their own hopes and dreams, (otherwise they were just being mean) but, it was this person’s opinion that if I couldn’t be great, it was better for me to give up and do anything else, rather than face an uncertain future of rejection and heart ache.

Fuck that!

Let me answer the question honestly: do I think I have what it takes to be a great writer? No. But I’m going to keep doing it anyway.

I’m going to keep doing it anyway, because I wasn’t a great actor, singer, dancer, or musician, but I did all that anyway. I wasn’t a great costume designer, or sewer, or director, but I did all that anyway. And, I wasn’t a great floral designer, but I did that anyway. I’m not even a great spouse, or child, or friend, but I continue to do those things too. I continue to do all these things, fuck them up, and then try to do them better. That’s kind of how I roll, and it’s kind of how you roll too. Do I succeed in doing any of those things with greatness? Probably not.

Who gives a shit?

Why should I keep striving, trying new things, “writing,” when I can’t be sure the outcome will be great? It’s who I am, what I do, and I’m not certain I have any other marketable skills.

However; the real reason I keep making things is because the first human art predates farming by thousands of years. While Ugg-Fart’s painting of “Mammoth Versus Men with Long Pointy Sticks” isn’t a technical masterpiece, it says something more poignant about our nature. Once we’d learned to take shelter, and master fire, we started to make superfluous things. That is to say; long before we had a stable source of food, or understood why the sun came up every single day, we thought it was important to tell stories, and make our caves pretty. To make sure that the sun came up, and we were victorious over the tribe in the cave on the next hill, we used song and dance to evoke the gods. It’s as plain as this: making things is our birthright as human beings!

As to the uncertain future of rejection and heart ache: that’s the human condition! I get it, money is important. We needed it to buy things like food and shelter, but please, stop acting like you have the modern world figured out because you spend your days in a cube doing low grade accounting work. Wealth can be taken, good looks fade, and to quote Carrie Fisher, “celebrity is just obscurity, biding its time.” Everything you think is secure, and certain, can go away tomorrow. Stop deluding yourself that you are the exception to the rule. I am completely aware of the risks I’m taking. 

So, I’ll keep fucking things up, and doing my best to make them better. If that happens to earn me some small green pieces of paper along the way, that’s kind of the goal. But, if I don’t make a dime from my writing, and I somehow trip and fall up against greatness in the process, all the better. Meanwhile, I’m going to stubbornly, clumsily, gratefully keep making things. 

You go ahead and keep your J.O.B. I’m going to continue to make my A.R.T.