the thing about writing

you’ll realize soon enough that this post stems from concern with social perception, catering to the opinions of others, and measuring one’s own skills against exceptional examples–all things i try mightily (and most often successfully) to make a non-issue. but alas, those things do play a very real role in stunting the ambitions of so many.

today i’m thinking specifically of artists, of every level & dedication, because of an article i read yesterday that i have continued to mull over most of today. the piece immediately impacted me enough that i posted it as a snippet. i encourage you to at least skim the article if you want an idea of what sparked the contemplation that follows.

here’s the thing: maybe it’s just in my head, but i feel as if writing is different than other art forms in that the expectations are higher for enthusiasts of the craft. what i mean is, professing a passion for that particular creative outlet seems to involve an assumption of considerable skill in the form. other artistic expressions, from painting, photography, and film to music, dancing, and sports, are more forgiving of marginally skilled aficionados.

creative people want to create, whether they are the most talented or not–and while we are hard on ourselves (see article), it is acceptable to accept mediocrity and just take pleasure in the artistic process. for example, you can profess an enjoyment of bringing a blank canvas to life with color, but that does not automatically imply that you are a great painter. you can express an enthusiasm for capturing images though the lens of a camera, but you are not consequently expected to produce stunning photography. i am completely comfortable with confessing my love for dancing or playing the piano or cooking or other creative modes without feeling pressure to perform well in these areas. but if i gush about language and writing, i feel there is an implied expectation that i ought to be a capable, if not excellent, writer.

one of my favorite novelists is stephen king. (i would love to possess even a fraction of his unique skill with words, even as i shudder to think of knowing the disturbing inner-workings of his mind…but i digress.) king wrote a non-fiction book called on writing that was a sort of autobiography and writing guide. i first read it in 2001, and picked it up again yesterday after reading The Article. i love this quote (i interpret the word “talented” as defined from it’s origin, meaning “inclined” or “disposed”):

“…when you find something at which you are talented, you do it (whatever it is) until your fingers bleed or your eyes are ready to fall out of your head. Even when no one is listening (or reading, or watching), every outing is a bravura performance, because you as the creator are happy. Perhaps even ecstatic.”

when i write as a creative outlet, i am not necessarily a “good” writer by classical standards: i’m verbose, i use obscure words, and i’m fond of alliteration (if you haven’t noticed yet) but that’s just my style. for me writing is like any other artistic form of expression; it reflects personal taste. (this, of course, is distinct from writing for a technical or professional purpose.)

i like creating: music, food, pictures…and written communication. i am not claiming to generate exceptional prose; i simply enjoy the practice of molding the clay of our language into vivid narrative. i am more of a toddler experimenting with play-doh than a ceramicist throwing a flawless pot.

ultimately, the beauty of art is in the eye of the beholder, but the joy of creating lies solely with the artist.